Queen, Protector, Warrior, and Serpent
by SilverAquaTrident
Summary: Careers are loyal to each other. They have each other's backs. It's been that way for every Hunger Games...except for the 74th. Marvel, Glimmer, Cato, and Clove hate each other to no end. So how can they survive their alliance when each will kill the other as soon as they get the chance? Join them on an epic journey of adventure, secrets, and betrayal as they fight to survive.
1. The Queen

**Chapter One: The Queen**

**Full Summary:**

**Cato can't stand Glimmer. Glimmer thinks Clove is 'Gross, I mean, look at her hair!'. Clove says Cato is a blundering idiot. Clove hates Glimmer with every inch of her spirit and being. Cato believes Marvel is below him. Marvel has made it clear that he thinks each and every one of the other Careers is 'Psychotic, each in their own special way'. If any group of teens should be in a life-or-death situation together, it should not be these four classic Careers. But nevertheless, they are thrown into the 74th Hunger Games together, and, even worse, into an alliance. And just when they thought it couldn't get any worse, a seemingly sweet girl from District 4, Fiona, starts stirring up the drama, and no one knows whether or not to trust her. How will they survive when each is out to kill the other? Join Marvel, Glimmer, Cato, Clove, and Fiona as they travel a journey of adventure, tragedy, betrayal, secrets, romance, and drama, drama, drama!**

**Here it begins. The journey of the Careers of the 74th Hunger Games, each chapter from a different Career's POV, starting with each character's Reaping then moving on to their time in the Capitol, then finally, the Games.**

**And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, without further ado, please welcome...**

**Miss Glimmer Maybelline!**

I don't know who is reading this, or why you would waste your free time reading, but I already know one thing about you:

I'm better than you.

Now, now, darlings, don't get upset. I know you're bawling your eyes out right now because you just long to be as gorgeous and smart and clever and pretty and awesome and gorgeous (did I mention gorgeous?) as me, but don't sweat it. I'm better than everyone. There's no need to, like, freak out.

I know exactly what you're thinking. After all, I am, like, a mind reader. You're thinking, How can I be as amazing as Glimmer Maybelline?

Well, guess what?

Sorry, dear! You can't.

See, the key to being as wonderful as me is to be perfect. You have to be pretty, sophisticated, smart, humble, pretty, and wise. Sure, you might be humble and wise, or pretty and sophisticated, or pretty and pretty, but no one can have all of those traits at once.

Except for me.

So here I am, in my luxurious plush king size bed, gazing up at my perfectly white-painted ceiling, reminiscing over how spectacular I am like I do every morning when I wake up.

Hee hee. Reminiscing. What a big word! See? Told you I'm smart!

I turn on my side and peek at the high-tech digital alarm clock, which, by the way, is imported all the way from District 3! Yes, I know you're amazed.

So on my high-tech-District-3-alarm-clock are some numbers: 9:00 - _9 o'clock!_

The Reaping starts at 9:30, and for an event as big as this, I need at least two hours of beautifying, and even that's pushing it.

Not that I'm not perfect already. It's just that I want to use makeup to make me look less perfect so that no one will faint in jealousy.

I whip off my shiny satin sheets and leap out of bed, dashing to my bathroom. Pulling open all of the drawers rapidly, I grab all the essentials. Mascara, lipstick, lip liner, eye liner, eye shadow, moisturizer, hair curler, hair straightener, hair ties, face wipes…

I grab everything I need, filling up the entire counter space. Which is saying something.

After I quickly fix my eyes, face, lips, and hair to make myself look less perfect, I stop and stare into the mirror to survey my work.

Ah, yes, you did it again, Glimmer, I tell myself. You're so amazing that you can make yourself look less perfect within fifteen minutes.

My emerald eyes are dramatically lined with elegant mascara, heavily lidded with light purple. My face is smooth and creamy without one blemish, and my lips are so perfect that every boy who passes me will want to kiss them immediately.

Not that they don't already.

I dive into my closet and carefully select a strapless dark purple dress that is low cut enough for my wonderful taste. I strip quickly and slide into the dress, zip it up, then turn to my full-length mirror.

One word. Perfect.

The reason I chose purple is because I want to look mysterious. And purple is a mysterious color. And mysterious is the angle I want to go for in the arena.

Oh, did I mention I'm going to volunteer? No, I won't be just a tribute. I'm going to be a Victor. I've been training since I was eight, and I'm like the best in District 1. I've got everything – the looks, the body, the attitude, the skill – and now all I need is the opportunity.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, striking a provocative pose and grinning. Oh yes, as soon as I open my door, a giant pack of boys will begin following me around, begging me to be their girlfriend. Well actually, that happens every day. It's just that the pack will be twice as big today, because it's a well-known fact that I'm going to volunteer. Like, the entire district is talking about it.

Opening the door, I step outside my room and into the perfectly polished hallway. I ride the elevator –yes, we have an elevator – down to the first floor, where the dining room is. The gleaming silver doors slide open, and I stride out into the elaborately decorated dining room.

"Hello, Glimmer," my mother says. Mum used to be almost as pretty as me when she was my age, but now her face has been marred with oldness. Like, she has a wrinkle. A wrinkle! Seriously, people these days...

She lounges in a plush chair, finishing off a plate of pancakes. Mum looks me up and down, frowning slightly.

One of the many wonderful things about Mum is that she is easy to manipulate. Like, I can get whatever I want. Allow me to demonstrate...

"You look gorgeous, sweetie," she says tentatively. "Your dress is a bit too low cut, though. You can see almost everything there!"

I roll my eyes. Mum can be so uptight sometimes.

"Yeah, but that's how I operate! You should know that after seventeen years of knowing me! Please Mummy? I'll win the Games if you let me wear it!"

Mum smiles warmly. "You have a point. Alright, wear the dress, it looks beautiful on you!"

I giggle, flipping my blonde ringlets. That is how you manipulate your mother. Honestly, it's just too easy! Besides, I would win the Games even without the tiny dress.

My stomach begins to growl. I march over to the kitchen area and find Mina frying some bacon. I snap my fingers twice. "Mina, I need bacon. Pronto. The Reaping is in ten minutes!"

Mina nods, tossing some onto a china plate with a spatula. I'm about to say thank you, but I forget every time – don't say thank you to Avoxes. I'm so much better than them.

Yes, Mina is our Avox. Ever wonder why we're so rich that we have elevators and satin and Avoxes? Well, just take a look at my last name. Maybelline.

Long before the Dark Days, there was this amazing French makeup company called Maybelline. The owners of Maybelline are my ancestors. It fell apart after the big flood, but since the Capitol loves my family so much, they let my Grandfather reopen it. So my dad is the CEO of Maybelline, and the Capitol buys like everything from there, therefore making us loads of money. He's in the Capitol right now. We visit him every summer.

I shove the crispy bacon into my mouth and set the plate down in front of Mina. Then, with a quick goodbye to my mother, I head out the door and onto the sidewalk.

A group of four girls who are almost as perfect as me immediately rush up to me, gossiping and jabbering about how amazing I am. I grin, because they are absolutely right. Tuning out the gossip, I turn and spot at least fifteen guys of varying degrees of hotness running to our group, their eyes directly set on me. When they reach us, they fill my brain with the usual gossip and proposals and such. I keep on walking, and the group follows me, chattering mindlessly. Other girls who aren't good enough to be in my pack glare at us, definitely out of envy.

Yes, that's right. There is no denying that I am the most popular girl in District 1. And there is nothing anyone can do about it, not even me. It's not like I can control my hotness.

We reach the square, and the Peacekeeper there pricks my finger and waves me on. I glance behind me, and I notice that the Peacekeeper stares at me with longing. I smirk and toss my curls, then walk to the seventeen year old section. I gaze ahead at the stage, ignoring all the people who have turned around and stared jabbering. This is finally my day, my time, I will finally become a Victor and go to the Capitol where I belong, among the rich and the stylish and...

The bespectacled Mayor steps up to the podium, and everyone quiets down. I scowl in distaste. Her long brown hair is so out of style. Shouldn't the Mayor of all people know the trends? One day, when I'm Victor, I'll become the Mayor and I will make sure everyone is gorgeous, but not as hot as me.

My attention is immediately lost as she goes on and on about the Dark Days and all that unimportant crap. I turn my attention to the chairs where the Victors sit.

We have so many Victors, you can barely count them. I spot Gloss, and he winks at me. Gloss is the only man in District 1 who deserves to have someone as hot as me on their arm. Which is why he's my boyfriend. He runs his fingers through his white-blonde hair, smiling. He knows my big moment is coming, he's proud of me.

What makes me angry is that Gloss isn't mentoring this year. However, Cashmere, his twin and also a Victor, is mentoring. I hate to admit it, but her popularity and looks rival mine. Well, she's twenty-two. You look prettiest when you're in your twenties. And I'm only eighteen.

I tap my foot, my body shaking with adrenaline. Come on, any time now...

Our escort Natalie, a lady with hot pink hair and a sparkling pink dress bursts to the podium as soon as the ugly Mayor steps down.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

The crowd screams and claps deafeningly. Being one of the more civilized districts, we treat the Hunger Games like a celebration. Because it is. The Hunger Games is what I was born and bred for.

"It is such an honor to be here in the best district in the nation! And now, District One, we will present the male tribute!"

She walks over to the Reaping bowls, filled with thousands of slips. The crowd takes a large breath. Well, it's not like the Reaping matters anyway. Someone volunteers every time.

Natalie fingers through the slips and pulls one out.

"Eth-"

"I VOLUNTEER!"

A guy runs to the stage, his brown hair falling in his face. I know that guy. He's one of the street rats. How could he possibly be a Career? That pathetic mess could never afford to go to the Academy. I can't quite lay a finger on his name...

Natalie grins. "Ah, yes! A Volunteer! Tell me, what is your name?"

"Marvel Tomlinson," he says quickly into the microphone.

Ah, that's it. Marvel. I scan him up and down. He's pretty muscular, but when it comes to hotness, he's only average. Nothing special. Unlike most Careers that volunteer, he looks kind of nervous. I can tell he's trying to hide it though. I can tell everything.

"Congratulations Marvel!" The crowd offers moderate applause. He's not that popular, I'd know if he was.

"And now, the female tribute is..."

"I VOLUNTEER!"

A million girls scream that and rush forward. My lips curl into a snarl. Oh, no you don't. Everyone knows I'm volunteering; they have no right to even consider it. _I_ won the Career trials, so _I_ get to volunteer.

I calmly step out into the aisle and clear my throat loudly. They freeze, then reluctantly back up, scowling, because they know that I won the trials fair and square.

I nod approvingly. I'm their idol, they would never make me mad. "That's right. My name is Glimmer Maybelline, and _I_ volunteer as tribute for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games." I walk up to the stage, victory welling up inside of me. I did it. I volunteered! Now all of Panem will know my name, admire me, adore me.

Natalie grins even wider. "Wonderful!"

I move toward Marvel to shake his hand, still glowing with glee. I grasp it and stare into his amber eyes. "It will be an honor to compete against you," I whisper, my voice taking on a seductive tone. Marvel scrutinizes me, suspicious. "You too," he says slowly. We release each other's grasp, then Natalie moves to hold up our hands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Marvel Tomlinson and Glimmer Maybelline!"

The crowd erupts in one big unanimous scream. "GLIMMER! GLIMMER!" They chant. I beam wider than I ever have in my life. I did this. They love me. I will win!

Marvel and I are ushered off the stage and into separate plush rooms.

I run my fingers along the velvet couch. Nothing I haven't seen before. Our house is practically made of velvet.

Gloss walks in. "Hey, Sexy," he greets, his white teeth shining. I stand up. "Hey Almost-as-Sexy," I reply. Gloss laughs.

"Well thank you! I just want you to know, I'm really proud of you. I knew you could volunteer. I'm so sorry I couldn't mentor this year, I've mentored three years in a row so they won't let me this time."

I wrap my arms around his neck and flash a simpering smile. "Aw, don't worry baby!" I coo.

"Well, I've got a surprise for you," he disentangles himself from me and bends down.

"Um...Gloss? What are you..."

His smile grows even wider. He gets down on one knee and pulls something out of his pocket.

"Glimmer...when you come back...can I be yours?"

He pops open the box, revealing a diamond ring. That's when I process what he's doing.

I gasp, speechless. I'm getting married...I'm actually getting married...

I squeal and throw myself into his arms. I'm getting married, I'm getting married, I'm coming back, and I'm getting married...

Gloss smashes his lips against mine and kisses me passionately. I savor his warmth, knowing I'll be without him for a few weeks.

"Time's up!" I hear behind me.

Gloss gently pulls back and slides the ring onto my finger.

"If you're fighting and are about to die, twist the diamond," he whispers quickly in my ear. I nod, wondering what it does. "I love you."

And then he's gone.

But not for long, I remind myself.

Because I'm coming back. No matter what it takes.


	2. The Protector

**Chapter 2: The Protector**

**A/N: ****Welcome back, Ladies and Gentlemen! My name is Claudius Templesmith, and I am here with another Reaping of one of my personal favourite tributes: Marvel. This year's competition is already promising...well, to a certain degree, anyway….with Miss Glimmer Maybelline as our female tribute for District One! Miss Maybelline has received kind reception, so my thanks to those who favourited and reviewed in her honour! It means quite a lot to her, she's mentioned it twenty times today! :O**

**Also, a special announcement. In this journey, one of the Careers, (or two), will become Victor/s of the 74th Hunger Games. Not Katniss Everdeen. So stay alert, for you never know what will happen in these Games. It will not be what you read in Suzanne Collins' book.**

**And now, without further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome…**

**Mister Marvel Tomlinson!**

_The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit line. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands and started walking briskly in the same direction._

"_News?" asked the taller of the two._

"_The best," replied Severus Snape._

_The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched._

"_Thought I might be late," said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of the overhanging trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?"_

_Severus Snape nodded and then pooped on Marvel's ugly face and Marvel screamed and died._

Wait…what?

I lift the book closer to my face, rubbing my eyelids. _Someone_ has crossed out the last few lines of the page and replaced them with stupid insults. I roll my eyes. Really? Again?

"Aimee, why did you do this?" I call, knowing that she has to be around here somewhere.

A slight figure bounces into our shack, crowned with a scraggly mane of dark brown hair and gleaming amber eyes that match mine exactly. "Hey, Marvel!" she greets jovially. "Guess what? I got some more cabbage from the dumpsters! And I rinsed out _all_ of the bugs this time!"

I smile at Aimee, appraising her for her work. Only every now and then are we able to get a treat like cabbage. The other people in District 1 are so rich that they throw out valuable food like it's crap. I mean, the leaves are still green, and there's only a few bugs here and there. What's not to like?

"Great, Aimee! Here, I'll chop up a salad, then can you go deliver it to the others?" I toss her a carrot. "Please go to Ruby and ask her for the cutting knife. Then chop up the carrot and gave me the slices to put in the salad. Got it?"

Aimee beams, probably jubilant at being entrusted with such an important task. She's about to bounce back out of the shack, but then I remember something. "Aimee!"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you mess with the Harry Potter book?"

Aimee's cheeks flush. "I'm sorry, Marvel. One of the street gang kids took it and wrote that. I tried to stop them, but they had knives, and I didn't think it'd be worth it to-"

"Aimee, it's alright! It's just a book. Honestly, the street kids have done much worse. Thanks for telling me, though."

Aimee's smile returns, prominent on her rosy cheeks. "No problem!" She skips back out, waving the carrot with glee.

I turn to the cabbage and begin pulling apart the crunchy leaves. It's been a long time since we've had something this good. For the past few nights, all we've had is stale bread and old goat cheese.

So you're probably wondering why we live in a shack, why we get food from the dumpster, why my parents aren't around, why I'm obsessed with Harry Potter, and why we have problems with the street gang kids, why our shack consists of just a makeshift table and two sleeping mats woven out of long grass.

Because quite frankly, we're street rats.

Aimee and I live in a group of shacks on the edge of town. The shacks are occupied by other orphans like us who refuse to go to the orphanage. Our group of shacks are kind of like one big family of kids ranging ages from about eight to sixteen. The town knows us as the Sham, though we don't really know why. Heck, I don't even know what a 'Sham' is! We act as a community; we share dinner (well, when we can get it, anyway), look out for each other, gather food, and split the little money that we earn. There's about fifteen of us, including Aimee and myself.

My mother died six years ago from some strange disease called cancer when I was ten and Aimee was six. We didn't understand what was happening to her, so we'd cry and ask why she won't get up. And one day, there was no reply. My dad was so stricken with grief that he killed himself, leaving us two to fend for ourselves. I'm normally never one to hold a grudge, but to this day I have never forgiven him for leaving us so selfishly.

Sure, life like this can be hard sometimes, especially when no one can scrounge up some food for a few days. Yet it's really not as bad as it sounds. One of the advantages of being a poor person in the richest district is that there is plenty of food to steal. It'd be a bit harder to live like this in a place like District 12, where barely anyone has food at all.

The rich are very careful about hiding their food from thieves, so we usually just get some from the dumpsters. A chicken bone with a little bit of meat on it, a half-empty bottle of juice, even a slice of ham if we're lucky. Then the Sham meets outside, and we divide up that day's food into portions. Sometimes, when food is scarce, the portions can be as small as a cracker.

Sometimes, we come across even better things than food. I found the whole Harry Potter series lying on a bench once, and that's why I've been reading it so much. It still makes me feel bad that I stole it, though. I never steal that often, because I always feel bad after doing something wrong. So I let the others do it, while I buy things with my meager wages from my job as a gem miner.

Stealing Harry Potter was worth it. I'm on the seventh book. The whole Sham is obsessed with it. Maybe it's because he's an orphan that became something great, the greatest wizard of all time. We know we won't become wizards but it sort of gives us hope.

I've always loved how when a student goes to Hogwarts, they sort him into one of four houses depending on his best traits. For example, if a student is brave and daring, he lives in Gryffindor house. If a student is wise and witty, he lives in Ravenclaw house. If a student is cunning and persuasive, he goes to Slytherin House. I think I belong in Hufflepuff. That's where all the fair, loyal, and hard-working people go.

No, no, I'm not trying to brag! Bragging is mean and unnecessary. I'm just saying…

I think it's fun to sort people into the Hogwarts houses in my imagination. Aimee is almost definitely a Gryffindor.

I turn my thoughts from the magical world of wizards and Sorting Hats back to peeling the cabbage. The cabbage is juicy and ripe, beads of water forming on the crispy surface. How could someone have possibly thrown this out?

District 1 throws away things far too much, especially the rich people, leftovers from stuffing their plump mouths. I highly doubt any other district can afford to throw _anything_ out. Why throw it away when they can give it to those who actually need it, like us in the Sham! It strikes me as cruel and unfair. Haven't they thought about the malnourished little kids like Aimee?

"Hey, Marvelous!"

I whirl around, knocking the cabbage onto the ground. That's when I realize that it's only Ellie. Ellie is one of the protectors of the Sham, along with me. We protect the little ones from harm and street gangs and angry Peacekeepers. Ellie has been my best friend since the day I met her. She doesn't look quite right, though. Her turquoise eyes don't have their usual sparkle. Her signature warm smile is replaced by a grimace of discontentment.

"Oh! Hey, Ellie. What's up?"

Ellie shrugs, her dark red curls bouncing. "Nothing, really. Just came to say good morning. I heard you were chopping up a salad for tonight after the Reaping."

My heart plummets to the ground. The Reaping. I completely forgot that it was today.

Unlike the other kids in 1, the Sham hates the Hunger Games. In my opinion, the Hunger Games are the worst thing that ever happened to Panem. Killing innocent children…it's despicable! What makes it worse is that the rest of the district treats it as if it's all a big party, as if sacrificing their children every year is _fun_.

Not only do each of us have loads of tesserae in the Reaping bowls, (though I banned Aimee from taking any) but this year is different. I'm volunteering.

No, no, it's not for personal glory or riches. I've been training with stolen weapons since Ellie and I established the Sham. If I win, I'll split my winnings among us and I'll invite all of the Sham to come live in my Victor's Village house. Ellie doesn't know about this, she'd kill me if she knew.

"Oh. The Reaping. Right. Well…I'm sure none of us will get Reaped. Somebody is guaranteed to volunteer." I'm not lying. It doesn't matter who's Reaped, someone will always volunteer.

Besides, we're the only ones who put in tesserae, anyway. The rich kids have nothing to worry about.

Ellie's warm grin returns. "Good point. Need some help with that cabbage?"

I laugh. "Sure, but I know you're going to eat all of it within about two seconds!" Ellie giggles. It's true. Ellie practically inhales her meager portion of food every night.

As Ellie bends down to pick up the cabbage, the back of her tattered tank top rides up. Something's wrong; a giant red slash runs across her lower back, dried blotches of red smeared across it.

"Ellie, what's that?" I ask, starting to become worried. We know everything about each other, she definitely would've told me if she'd gotten hurt.

"Nothing," she says quickly, pulling her shirt down over her back. "Wait!" I leap forward and hold her into place, lifting up her shirt again to study the cut. Puss and blood ooze from it. The sight is so revolting that I want to look away, but I can't. This injury could be serious. "Ellie, what happened? It could get infected, I need to help it!"

"Marvel, it's nothing!" Ellie snaps, her tone growing sharp. I've never seen her snap, something must be up.

"Please, Ellie!" I plead. "I need to help you! What happened?"

Ellie sighs, sitting on the ground. I plop down next to her, my hand on her shoulder.

"Okay, well…I was out late last night, checking to see if any vendors were still open so I could buy a blanket for Trianna. A group of men suddenly came out, and they were obviously drunk. Really drunk."

Tears start to well up in Ellie's eyes. I wrap my arm around her shoulder tighter, growing more and more concerned. Drunk men...this couldn't have ended well.

"And…I wanted to steer clear, so I ducked into an alleyway. But they found me. They started to taunt me, and they said some really bad things…"

The tears spill from her eyes. I can never stand to see her cry, I only have twice and it broke my heart. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I stroke her hair.

"One of them told me to give them all my money. I said I had none and started to walk away, but then they started threatening me. They were armed, so I ran away as fast as I could, then one of them caught up with me and cut me with his knife really, _really_ hard -"

Ellie starts to sob uncontrollably into my shoulder. The state she's in makes me want to cry, too. She's so traumatized, she seems so fragile. How awful that experience must have been…

Sudden anger flares up inside of me. How dare they touch her, how dare they _hurt _Ellie!

"Ellie…" I whisper. "I'm so, _so_ sorry…" I attempt to remain calm and comforting, but something inside of me wants to go strangle those men, right here, right now.

She leans back, wiping tears from her eyes. "No, no, you didn't do anything," she mutters, sobs still choking out of her mouth. "I think I'll just go now…"

Ellie starts to rise, and I quickly pull her back down. "Wait, that cut needs attention. Just…just let me take care of you for awhile, alright?"

Reluctantly, Ellie sits back down. I lead her to my sleeping mat and lay her down on her stomach, then slide off her shirt to examine the wound.

As soon as I see it up close, I want to puke. It's all a big mixture of sickening shades of red and yellow and green and purple…nevertheless, I grab a pail of water and a small towel and clean the cut.

After I clean away all the nasty puss and blood, it looks a lot better. I rush over to our 'medicine cabinet', which is actually just a plate with some herbs, bandaging tape, and one tiny bottle of cough syrup. Since my parents were middle class doctors, I know a lot about this kind of stuff. I carefully select some herbs and leaves and pull off a large strip of bandaging tape.

"Here, let's give it some air, alright? I need to boil these herbs anyway."

Ellie nods. "Okay. You know, I'm really grateful. For you helping me. It means a lot." I flash her a smile. I've always loved how quick she is to thank people. "No problem. Anything for you."

And I mean it when I say that. Because if I can volunteer to help her, I can do anything for her.

* * *

**A FEW HOURS LATER...**

The people line the streets, hooting and chattering as if there's no tomorrow. Honestly, do the citizens of District 1 do anything but talk? You can notice a lot more when you don't spend all your time talking, that's what my mum always told me.

The entire Sham is walking to the Reaping together, weaving our way through the bustling swarms of people. Rowdy rich kids jeer at us, what with our tattered clothes and overall messed-up appearances. We hold our heads high and keep on walking, the way we always do when people make fun of us.

I've gotten Ellie's wound taken care of, and now, luckily she's able to walk and talk as usual.

I try to keep my face neutral, but it doesn't seem to work. Terror lies in the bottom of my stomach, like a boulder resting in the bottom of a lake. In twenty minutes, I will volunteer and get shipped off to the Capitol, the place where generosity levels are far too low and money levels are far too high, possibly gone from Ellie forever.

I push these thoughts out of my mind. I'm coming back. I've trained with spears, with knives, with swords and axes we stole from the Career Training center. I have this competition down, more down than over half of the other tributes will. Perhaps it's not that fair, they don't even have weapons in the non-Career districts, but I really need the skill to win so I can provide for the Sham. I'm sure they'd understand...right?

The noise levels suddenly rise. Glancing over to my left, I spot a large crowd of giggling girls and boys surrounding something that I can't see.

"Glimmer Maybelline," Ellie whispers. "The most conceited, stuck-up girl in town. Heard she's going to volunteer this year."

In return, I grunt. So Glimmer will be the other tribute...well, she doesn't seem very nice to me if she's stuck-up and conceited. The nicer ones are harder to kill, but this one should be easier...

_Marvel!_ my conscience scolds. _That was a sadistic, bloodthirsty, and downright mean thing to say_!

My conscience has a point there. But seriously, it's better than having a friendly district partner, because in order for you to win, she would have to die.

I can just make out this girl named Glimmer in the center of the group. Crimped blonde hair, seductive smirk, and a ridiculous amount of makeup. This girl is the embodiment of snootiness. I mean, just look at the gaggle of teens dying to talk to her! Do they realize how shallow they look, squealing and giggling and fawning over her like she's the queen of Panem?

Glimmer notices me staring in her direction and winks at me, tossing her hair. She probably thinks that I'm staring at her out of lust. _Dream on, Glimmer_. I turn away, rolling my eyes, and keep leading the Sham toward the square.

When we arrive at the square, we usher the little ones to the section of people too old or young to be Reaped. Then those of us of Reaping age, which is about ten of us, sign in, then head over to our designated sections. As I'm about to turn to the sixteen year old section, Aimee jogs up to me.

She's biting her lip like she always does when she's nervous, a small bead of crimson blood forming. I notice a slight tremor in her hand, and it's obvious that she's shaking out of fear. Aimee is so confident, she's barely ever scared.

"Marvel, I'm worried," she says shakily. I can't blame her -it's her first Reaping, and that's how I felt my first time.

I pat her back gently. "Don't be nervous, Aims. Remember, someone _always_ volunteers," I tell her, thinking of Glimmer Maybelline.

Aimee nods briskly. I kiss her on the forehead and walk with Ellie to the 16 year olds' section in silence.

We reach the area where the boys and girls have to split up. "Don't worry, Ellie," I say, embracing her tightly. "You too," she replies. "We have nothing to worry about." But little does she know that I have _everything_ to worry about...

Shoulders hunched, palms slick with sweat, I make my way over to the boy's section. Everyone else ignores me; no one would be caught dead associating with a street rat.

Mayor Newell steps up to the podium, and everyone quiets down. Her dark brown hair falls over her glasses, making her look younger than she really is. I've heard people snickering about her looks, but I think she actually looks nice. Then again, everything looks nice to you when you've been living on the streets for six years.

She reads the usual speech with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. I zone out, planning my arena strategy subconsciously. I'll team up with the Careers, ditch them, take food...

"And now, our past Victors. In order, Zagat Williams, Winchester Yergley, Emerald June..."

The Mayor goes on and on with the list of Victors. Our district has the most Victors in the nation, second only to District Two.

I can feel my heart pounding, my body shaking with pure adrenaline. The time is almost here, the time where I have to give myself up to the Capitol, to the twisted Hunger Games...

She spends a full minute reading all the names, and she was reading them _quickly_. Yeah. That's the obscene number of people from our district who win the Games.

"...Gloss Kardashian, and Cashmere Kardashian. And now, please welcome our escort, fresh from the Capitol, Natalie Fritter!"

A lady in a tight dress that's so pink that I want to puke struts to the podium, obnoxiously flashing us her blinding white teeth. Ugh, Capitolites. As shallow as you can get. Then again, they're not very unlike the upper class of District One. Same arrogant attitude, same ridiculous names...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Seventy-Fourth HUNGER GAAAAAAAMES!"

The crowd cheers like someone just awarded them a thousand pounds of candy each. This is appalling! Cheering for the death of children! Children from their own district! That's betrayal, it's not right!

"And now, it's time that we select our male tribute!"

Oh God. Oh God, it's time...I can't put it off any longer. I need to help the Sham, I need to take the chance, yet something freezes me into place.

_Now, Marvel. Now._

_"I VOLUNTEER!"_

I glance around to see who volunteered, only to find that the scream came from my own mouth. I did it. I volunteered. I have to go to the stage now...

Slow and steady, I take wide steps to the stage. A few kids jeer at me, murmurs of 'street rat' and 'hopeless' resonate through the air. Keeping my head held high, I step up onto the stage next to Natalie, trying to hide my shaking.

"Ah, a volunteer! Tell me, sir, what is your name?"

"M-Marvel," I spit out. "Marvel Tomlinson."

Natalie nods with approval, approval that's obviously fake and out of politeness. "Congratulations, Mister Marvel Tomlinson! How 'bout a round of applause for our newest male tribute?"

Silence. Complete, utter, deafening silence.

I pick out Ellie in the crowd, and she's shaking her head in disbelief, still in shock. _She probably thinks I betrayed her..._ I give her a reassuring nod, hoping she'll get the message, then turn to Aimee. To my horror, she covers her face with her hands, shaking. Even worse, the twelve-year-olds next to her laugh and hiss taunts and insults. And it's _my_ fault...

Natalie tries to hide her confusion, but it's not working out for her that well. Every single year, tributes have earned wild applause, the people treat them like gods. I guess I've made history by being District One's most hated tribute.

"Um...okay!" Natalie exclaims, far too brightly to be natural. "That will do! Um...let's move on to out female tribute now..."

"I VOLUNTEER!"

A whole ton of girls let out that cry in unison as they charge forward. That's when I spot Glimmer, looking like she will kill all of them at this second. She clears her throat loudly, and all the girls freeze immediately, and reluctantly step back to their sections.

I gape, my mouth hanging wide open. The _power_ Glimmer has over everyone...the way they submit to her...

"My name is Glimmer Maybelline, and _I_ volunteer as tribute." She thrusts a pointed look at each of the girls who volunteered, all of whom cower in fear. The crowd erupts in one deafening roar as Glimmer casually strolls up to the stage, thrusting out her chest. She grabs my hand tightly and stares into my eyes, green piercing amber. "It will be an honor to compete against you!" she says to me with sickening sweetniss. I glare at her. Glimmer has no right to boss around the younger children like she did just now. I will not play her game.

"Spectacular!" Natalie shouts, as if it were a surprise that there were two volunteers. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the District One tributes for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!"

The crowd roars for us - I mean, Glimmer. They actually chant her name, like she's the best thing that ever happened to them. I stare straight ahead, my face showing no emotion, while Glimmer waves and grins and flips her golden hair.

After the cheers die out, which takes about five minutes, none of which are directed toward me, I am ushered into a room with the door padlocked behind me, as if I were going to escape. I don't think the Peacekeepers will need to worry about that.

I gaze at my surroundings. The couch in front of me looks soft, soothing. I plop down on it, running my fingers over the shiny fabric. It feels smooth. Warm. Fuzzy. Like I've never felt before. And to think that the Capitol has riches even more than this strange material...

The door swings open, and a Peacekeeper shoves Aimee in, then closes the door again. Aimee runs into my arms immediately, sobbing. "Why, Marvel? Why did you volunteer?"

I stroke her hair, tears threatening to spill over at the sight of my sister crying. "If I win, I'll get lots of money that I can give to the Sham so that we won't have to live on the streets anymore."

Aimee looks up at me, tear tracks glittering on her rosy cheeks. "But what if you don't win?"

I'll die. That's what. But I figure that prospect won't help Aimee's emotional state.

"Don't worry, I'll come home. I've had lots of training remember, more than most of the other tributes. I'll make it out, and then in no time, I'll be back home. Got it?"

The tears start to dry up on Aimee's face. A trace of a smile crosses her lips. "Got it. Oh, and I have something for you."

Aimee pulls something out of her pocket. "Mama's pin."

She places the pin in my hand, and I stare at it, jaw hanging open. The night before our mother died, she gave Aimee her pin for her birthday, a family heirloom. The pin is golden and circular, with a star imprinted in the middle. It's the last we have of our mom.

I envelop Aimee in another hug, holding her tight. Mum's pin is her most prized possession. Every night, she would hide it under her pillow, making sure no one could come in and steal it. That she would give me something as valuable as this...

"Time's up." A Peacekeeper pops his head in, beckoning Aimee impatiently. I embrace Aimee one more time, and her tears drip on my shoulder again. "I'll be back before you know it."

I kiss her forehead. She gives me one last hopeful glance, then lets the Peacekeeper push her back out.

Before I even have time to process what just happened, the door bangs open. In runs Ellie, silent tears shining in her light blue eyes. Without hesitation, I let her into my arms. After a moment, Ellie pulls back and slaps my face so hard that it goes numb. "Ellie?"

"Why-would-you-do-that?!" Ellie screams, slapping me with every word. "You are one of the protectors of the Sham! How could you lie to us? How could you leave Aimee and the little ones?! How could you leave...me?"

Ellie throws herself into my chest again, sobbing. "Sh, shhh," I whisper, rubbing her back. "Everything will be alright." Ellie pulls away. "No, it WON'T be alright!" she yells. "WHAT IF YOU DIE OUT THERE?!"

"I won't die. I did it because I don't want you guys to starve. If I win, the entire Sham will live in my house and we won't be hungry anymore."

Ellie's rage turns to tenderness. "Oh, Marvel," she whispers. "I'm so sorry...I thought you did it for...for glory or something..."

I shake my head. "It's alright. I'd be mad, too. Listen, just in case I don't come back...can you take care of Aimee for me?"

Ellie nods. "Of course. I'll make sure I steal cabbage, and I'll get a job, and I'll tuck her in, and I'll-"

Ellie's words are cut off. Not because she stopped talking, but because I pulled her head in and pressed my lips to hers for the very first time. Smooth and tender, I feel like I'm gliding on air, soaring, with just me and Ellie, Ellie and me, flying forever...

"Time's up."

Ellie pulls away, gazing at me so intensely that her eyes may as well be daggers. "Come back. Please. I love you."

And with that, she's gone, and I'm left speechless, the warmth of her kiss still tingling across my lips. Ellie is gone forever.

Wait. No she isn't.

Because I'm coming back. No matter what it takes.


	3. The Warrior

**Chapter 3: The Warrior**

**A/N: Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Claudius Templesmith, your Hunger Games commentator, and I am here today with the world-renowned interviewer Caesar Flickerman!**

**(**_**Thunderous applause**_**)**

**CT: So, Caesar, it's an honor to have you on the Author's Note Show today. What do you think about this year's competition so fa-**

**CF: Just get on with the stupid Reaping. We don't have time for your foolishness.**

**CT: (**_**laughs nervously**_**) Um…okay. If you insist! **

**CF: Sorry, Claudius. I'm just in a bad mood because I'm hungry. Hungry for more…HUNGER GAAAAAAMMEEESSS!**

**(**_**Awkward Silence**_**)**

**CF: Anyway, Claudius, today is going to be a bit different. Today, we will be taking a peek into the…erm…interesting life of Mister Cato Black -**

**CT: Ooh, he's cute!**

**(**_**Awkward silence.**_**)**

**(**_**Five minutes later**_**)**

**CF: Anyway, um, we will take a peek into the interesting life of Mister Cato-**

**CT: (**_**Giggles**_**) Cutie-pie!**

**CF: Claudius, Cato is a boy, you do know that, right?**

**CT: (**_**Slaps forehead**_**) DANG IT! I WANTED HIM TO BE A GIRL!**

**(**_**Awkward Silence…**_**)**

**(_Ten minutes later_...)**

**CT: Sorry.**

**CF: Okay, just read the chapter, alright? Today's chapter will be from the perspective of Mister Cato Black the night before the Reaping of District Two. The next chapter will be from the perspective of Miss Clove McKinnon for the Reaping. Good night, everyone, and enjoy the chapter!**

**CT: Listen, I'm not completely convinced that Cato is not a girl. Can we discuss this fascinating topic-**

**CF: That's it. I'm canceling your salary.**

**CT: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...****  
**

**(_Five minutes later_)**

**CT: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAKKKKKKKKKK! (_Faints_)**

**CF: Good riddance! I hate that guy with a passion. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Mister Cato Black!**

* * *

CATO BLACK - THE NIGHT BEFORE THE REAPING

Jerome holds the flashlight under his chin, casting a ghostly light onto his face. Shining it around the musty attic, each of our amused faces is illuminated. Well, my face is the one that's amused. Everyone else's is dead serious, as if someone just died. After pointing the blinding beam of the flashlight toward each of us, he slowly brings it back up to his chin, leaving those funny little squiggles of light before my eyes. I blink, trying to swat the obnoxiously bright light out of my eyes, though it still lingers.

"Welcome, Careers-in-Training, to the unofficial District Two tribute initiation ceremony of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games," Jerome says in an exaggerated low voice, looking each of us in the eye.

I let out a sigh. This is going to be a long night. Honestly, just because I'm going to volunteer this year doesn't mean I have to take part in this stupid 'initiation ceremony'. Nevertheless, my friends insisted, saying that it's tradition.

Yeah. A tradition where Jerome tapes a pink rubber flamingo to my head. Literally. He somehow got a hold of a flamingo and duct-taped it to my head. Why, you ask?

I have no clue. But he paid me thirty bucks to go through with it, that's the only reason I'm risking humiliation.

According to Jerome, whose older brother Apollo just won the Games last year, every new tribute from the Career Academy must undergo an 'initiation'. This basically consists of me and Clove, the new tributes, Jerome, and some of our other friends in the abandoned attic above the boys' dorm, gathered around in a circle, snacking on a bunch of crappy food someone stole from the kitchen. Other than that, I have absolutely no clue what to expect.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Clove glaring at me. I shoot her a glare twice as ferocious. Being worst enemies since we were ten, we have a habit of glaring at each other for no particular reason. Maybe it's just that mutual loathing, or maybe it's because Clove downright sucks, and she thinks the same of me.

Jerome slinks toward me, causing the dusty floorboards to creak and moan, adding to the ghostly effect. He holds the flashlight under my chin. His bright green eyes scrutinize mine, and his ashen hair falls over his face. "Are you Cato Spartacus Black?" Jerome asks in a commanding voice.

I roll my eyes. "No, Jerome. I'm President Snow. God, of course I'm Cato!"

Jerome narrows his eyes in mock suspicion. "Do you have an alibi to prove this?"

Oh, Jerome. Jerome, Jerome, Jerome. "Um…you, I guess? But really, why do I need an ali-"

"Very well, then." He backs away from me and marches slowly toward Clove, as if he were part of a funeral procession. She scowls. "Okay, do we really have to do this all over again?" Jerome shines the flashlight on her face, ignoring her protests.

"Are you Clove Thalia McKinnon?"

Clove's pupils dramatically roll. "Well, yeah –wait, how did you know my middle name?"

Jerome frowns, shifting uncomfortably. "Ummm…..I'm going to ask you again. Are you or are you not Clove Thalia McKinnon?"

"YES!" Clove exclaims exasperatedly. "Gosh, you've known me since we were ten!"

"Do you have an alibi to prove this?"

"Okay, this is ridiculous-"

Clove begins to rise from her 'throne', which Jerome decorated with red streamers, but he pushes her back down.

"It is necessary for you to be initiated, young child. We have chocolate."

Clove ponders this for a moment, then nods. "Fine. It can't hurt." Jerome and the others grin at each other conspiratorially, and that's when I begin to worry. Jerome is the prankster of our year of Careers, and he's known for coming up with brilliantly clever schemes designed to embarrass people. This can't end well…

Jerome bends back up and places a purple and yellow joker hat on his head. I resist a snort. Really? A joker hat?

Somehow, Jerome manages to keep a straight face, shining the flashlight below his chin again, casting an eerie glow on his goofy hat. "Fellow brothers and sisters, we are here to initiate Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon into the group of one hundred forty-six past tributes of District Two in hope that one of them shall live happily in the afterlife and the other shall return in victory."

And that other one who 'shall return in victory' will be me. Clove is my arch nemesis; I will have no trouble killing her. Both of us are pretty popular at the Academy, yet no one seems aware that at least one of us won't be returning.

"And now, the sprinkling of the Mysterious Ancient Golden Liquid of Gold and Other Various Substances of Yugoslavia. Bow your heads."

"Uh…what?" I ask. Liquid of gold? Judging by the way Jerome is suppressing a smirk, this 'Mysterious Ancient Golden Liquid of Gold and Other Various Substances of Yugoslavia' is probably made of anything _but_ gold. And with the added mystery of 'Various Other Substances', I'm starting to become downright nervous.

"Shut up. Bow your head, Clove Thalia McKinnon."

"No! Okay, but, seriously, what's the point of this?"

"To initiate Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon into the group of one hundred forty-six past tributes of District Two in hope that one of them shall live happily in the afterlife and the other shall return in victory. You will receive double portions of chocolate if you bow."

"Deal."

Clove reluctantly lowers her head, messy brown hair falling over her face. Jerome grabs a shiny metal bucket and a silver spoon and sprinkles some yellow liquid on her. I nearly cackle with glee at the way she cringes. When Jerome puts down the bucket, Clove lifts up her head, running her fingers through the wet spots in her hair. "What is that crap?"

"It is the ancient golden liquid of Yugoslavia, young padowan. Fresh all the way from the land of Yugoslavia."

"Yugoslavia doesn't even exist anymore!" Clove protests.

"In our hearts it does."

"What the…" Clove grumbles.

Clove grumbles a lot. I'd have to say that grumbling, along with scowling, smirking, and being all things bad are her strengths. Although I'm seriously starting to wonder what that 'golden liquid' was that got dumped on her. I hope it's phosphoric acid. It would be fun to watch her disintegrate.

"What's the point of this?" I inquire, asking the one question that's been on my mind for this entire ceremony.

"To initiate Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon into the group of one hundred forty-six past tributes of District Two in hope that one of them shall live happily in the afterlife and the other shall return in victory."

Jerome is really starting to get on my nerves. Honestly, did he _have_ to drag me up here? But then I think of the thirty bucks I'll be receiving after this, and all my angry protests seem to wash away.

"Okay, okay, I get that part. But why exactly did you drag me up the trapdoor to the attic, smuggle at least five girls into the boys' dorms, pour bleach all over my cot, tape this pink rubber flamingo to my head, put me in a chair decorated with red streamers, nick some crappy hamburgers from who-knows-where, and dump a mysterious Yugoslavian yellow liquid on Clove?"

Jerome raises his eyebrows slightly as though the answer is obvious. "To initiate Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon into the group of one hundred forty-six past tributes of District Two in hope tha-"

"Yeah, _I get it_, but why is all of this necessary?"

"To initiate Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon into the group of one hun-"

"Never mind," I mutter. I wonder how Jerome memorized that obscenely long reply…

"Cato Spartacus Black shall have no need to be sprinkled with the Ancient Mysterious Liquid Golden Substance of Yugoslavia, as he is awesome enough already. Well, slightly."

I smirk at Clove, who rolls her eyes and scowls in return. Jerome is right. I don't need anyone to dump yellow crap on my head. It would make me look worse. Of course, it wouldn't make Clove be worse, she's as bad as you can get already.

"And now, brothers and sisters, we must perform the initiation ritual."

I pray to whatever god there is out there that this will end soon and that I can rip this flamingo off my head.

Whatever god there is out there apparently decided to ignore my prayer, because Jerome dives to the side and retrieves a slice of watermelon from a plate that I didn't notice before. With a swift motion, he cracks the slice in half and hands the halves to Antonio and Perseus, who stuff the slices into their mouths, making a bright green smile.

"Okay, that's hilarious, but _why_ exactly are you wearing watermelon moustaches?"

The two boys ignore me and stand on either side of Jerome, facing me and Clove. They start to do the duggy, widening their eyes comically. I roll my eyes probably for the twentieth time tonight. Only Jerome would conduct an initiation ceremony like this.

Two of the girls, Marissa and Flax, gather on either side of Antonio and Perseus, stuff their mouths with marshmallows and flap their arms like birds, spinning around in circles. I exchange a look with Clove, who looks as if she's about to howl with laughter at the sight of the four cocky Careers' dignity erased. How much did Jerome have to pay them to get them to dance around like retarded monkeys?

"Shoo-mee-wa-poo-waga-crega-terra-yoogie…" My thoughts are cut off as Jerome begins to chant nonsense words and circle around Flax, Perseus, Antonio, and Marissa, banging a spoon against a plate.

"What is this?" Clove hisses to me through the din.

"I don't know any more than you do!" I hiss back.

After five minutes of Jerome's stupid act, he finally bangs his plate twice, and the four other people freeze.

"And now, Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon shall henceforth take part in the ancient ritual of inquiries and nerve."

"What?"

"We're playing Truth or Dare. You can take off your flamingo now."

Much to my relief, me and Clove rip off our flamingoes. The others remove the watermelons and swallow the marshmallows, though Jerome still keeps on his joker hat.

"Great, so this stupid ritual is over?" Clove asks.

Jerome laughs. "No. You still have to take part in the ancient ritual of Inquiries and Nerves. But the ceremony is over."

"And what exactly was that point of that?" I ask skeptically, annoyed by Jerome wasting my last night in District 2 before I go into the arena. "If you say that it's because it initiates Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon blah blah blah, I will slit your throat."

"To amuse us," Antonio answers, smirking. "It was pretty fun to see you two get creeped out!"

Clove scowls again. "If you tell anyone that we took part in your stupid little initiation, I will turn you all into my knife-throwing targets."

"Wow, Clove. Always so kind and pleasant," I say .

That statement earns me a slap in the face from Clove. Normally I would recoil and shriek, but when you've known Clove for eight years, you kind of get used to getting slapped on a regular basis.

"Attention, brothers and sisters! It is time for the ancient ritual of Inquiries and Nerve! Sit down in a circle. Flax, toss me the bottle. Luke, pass out the burgers. Angela, get the drinks. You know, the ones we smuggled from the Trainers awhile back."

"Really Jerome, what was that 'liquid from Yugoslavia'?'

Jerome snorts. He leans in close to my ear. "Yugoslavia is the janitor's dog," he whispers.

Liquid from Yugoslavia...Ohhhh! Jerome and I start howling in laughter at the fact that Clove unwittingly got drenched with dog pee. I can't wait to taunt her about that in the arena, on national television...

I plop down on the ground, but Clove apparently was aiming to sit in the same spot, and she ends up on my lap. "Get off," she growls. I raise my eyebrows. "Me? You're the one on my lap! _You_ get off!"

"No!" Clove barks. "I got here first. You're moving."

I scoff. _No one_ gives me orders.

"No! Get your stupid butt off of me!"

"No, you are going to move right now or else I will make you target practice in the arena!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"Oh, would you?"

"Yes, because it wouldn't work and I'd laugh really hard when you fail."

"Okay, you are so dead!"

Clove leans forward, sprawled across me, and slaps me repeatedly in the face. I retaliate by punching her, and we roll over so that I'm on top of her. She claws at me with her razor sharp nails while I punch her over and over again. I feel a hot trickle of blood run down my arm where she scratched me particularly hard. Rage courses through me as we fight even harder, rolling around on the floor, my vision tinted with red. My rage is replaced with bloodthirstiness. I want to see Clove's blood spilled, to injure her, to make her feel _pain_...

Suddenly, I feel a force tugging me off of Clove, and a force pulling her off me. I struggle, determined to pounce on her again, but the force restrains me, holding me back no matter how much I thrash. "Get off!" I yell. "Get off of me!"

"Wow, anger management, much?" I hear Jerome laugh.

I tilt my head enough to see who my captor is. Adrian, the only guy in the Career Academy that's bigger than me, has me and Clove in a headlock, smushed side by side.

"Only you two would get into a fight to the death about who gets to sit in what spot," he teases, laughing in his deep voice.

I break out of Adrian's headlock and find all of the other people howling with laughter. My cheeks flush bright red with shame, along with Clove's. Honestly, why the hell did me and Clove almost kill each other?

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's getting laughed at. "Shut up," I growl menacingly. The laughter fades, replaced by a mixture of amused and fearful glances.

Jerome bravely strolls up to me and pats me and Clove on the back. "Don't sweat it. You know what this means? It means that District Two has the best freaking tributes in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games!"

Everyone else in the room cheers jovially, almost drunkenly. I feel my cheeks lighten up a bit. Praise matters a lot to me. If everyone cheers for me, I'm happy. If they laugh at me, I'm dejected.

And, since everyone is cheering for me, I can't help but grin. I glance over at Clove, and even she is back to smirking as usual.

"Okay, let's get on with Truth or Da – I mean, Inquiries and Nerve. Clove, try not to sit on Cato again. You two don't need any more serious injuries in the next sixty seconds."

Clove smirks at me, then plops down on the opposite side of the circle. Marissa tosses me a burger wrapped in foil and a can of something-or-other.

Jerome grabs his flashlight and turns it back on. "Brothers and sisters, we shall now commence the Inquiries and Nerves sector of the initiation ceremony of Cato Spartacus Black and Clove Thalia McKinnon. As cannon to tradition, the subject is required to fulfill the requests of the provider of the Nerve, given that-"

"Would you mind saying that in English?" Flax cuts in, and some of the others murmur in assent.

Jerome rolls his eyes. "God, guys, it's dramatic effect! Okay, fine. We're playing Truth or Dare now. No one can refuse their dare, no matter what it is. Got it?"

We nod, finally able to comprehend his instructions.

"Alright, good. We're playing bottle-style, so one person spins the bottle, whoever it lands on gets asked 'Truth or Dare'. I'll spin first."

He places a rusty old rum bottle on the ground, shining the flashlight on it so we can see through the musty darkness. Jerome nudges the bottle and it revolves rapidly, spinning round and round in a blur. Finally, it comes to a stop, pointed directly at a girl named Faye. Faye slaps her hand against her forehead. "Oh, great. Why did _Jerome_ have to spin this time?"

Jerome smirks. "Truth or Dare?"

Faye thinks for a moment. "If any other person were asking, I'd say Dare, but since you're the king of dares, I'm choosing Truth."

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Jerome clucks. "Coward, coward...hmm..." He snaps his fingers suddenly. "Got it. Faye, if you were a boy and you had to choose a girl in this room to marry, who would it be?"

"Marissa," she answers immediately. Marissa shifts uncomfortably, raising an eyebrow. "Since she's the richest, I would trick her into marrying me, take all her money, and leave."

"Hey!" Marissa yelps indignantly, laughing. "Well, thank God, you had me worried there for a moment!"

Jerome high-fives Faye. "Go heartbreakers!"

"Should I be worried, Jerome?" Angela jokes. Angela is Jerome's girlfriend. Jerome kisses her forehead.

"Alright," Faye says. "My turn." Jerome shines the flashlight on the bottle as she spins it. "And it lands on...Perseus."

Perseus shrugs. "Hey, at least you're not Jerome or Cato or Clove. They're the harshest with dares. So...I'll pick Dare."

A grin forms across Faye's round face. "We'll see about that, Percy. I dare you to take off your pants and wear them on your head. Remain like that for the rest of the game."

Everyone shrugs, murmuring. It's not that embarrassing. With a shrug, Perseus says, "Okay. I've done worse."

Perseus removes his pants, leaving just his dark red boxers underneath, and places them on top of his head, causing some of the girls to giggle. "That was easy," he says nonchalantly, grinning as if nothing just happened.

I sigh, resisting the urge to slap my forehead. Seriously, people _need_ to come up with better dares.

Grabbing the bottle and eyeing it possessively, Perseus spins it again. "And the lucky duck is...ah, Clove Thalia McKinnon! Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

Clove remains smirking, not even a slight change in her expression. "Well aren't you nervous?" Perseus asks incredulously. "You're not even going to react slightly?"

Clove shakes her head. "Nah. Seeing as you aren't witty or clever enough to produce a half-decent dare, I'm not nervous at all."

Perseus humphs indignantly, then shakes it off. Well, Clove's not completely wrong. Perseus isn't the brightest bloke out there. "Okay, Clove Thalia McKinnon. I dare you to...uh...um...hold on...I...wait, wait, don't tell me..."

Everyone sighs. Like I said, Perseus is not very bright, nor is he a quick thinker.

"Uh...oh, oh! I know! I dare you to take off Cato's shoe and sock and suck on his foot for twenty seconds."

Everyone groans simultaneously in exasperation. Can't anyone shake things up with a _good_ dare for once?

Clove performs yet another dramatic eye roll. Yanking off my boot and sock, she fingers my foot gingerly. "God, your foot is disgusting!"

"Oh, come _on_, Clove, I just showered!"

"Then get a better haircut!" she snaps. I flash her a good glare. Leave it to Clove to spit out the most pointless insults in the most random times. "Jerome, you owe me one hundred extra bucks after this."

And with that, Clove cringes and shoves my foot into her mouth. I feel her keeping her tongue plastered to the roof of her mouth to avoid the taste of my sweaty foot flesh. Her eyes widen, and she makes exaggerated gagging noises. I grin with pure glee at Clove's discomfort. "One, two, three, four..." we count slowly, laughing at her reaction, at that contorted look on her face that makes it look like she's about to throw up.

"Nine, ten!"

Clove shoves my foot out of her mouth, coughing and hacking. "That," Clove begins between a raspy cough. "Was the worst experience I've ever had. Honestly, Cato, haven't you heard of foot hygiene?"

I chuckle. "Yes, but I ditched the idea, just in case you ever got a dare to suck on my foot." Clove scoffs. "Like you would ever have the wits to predict that. Perseus, give me the bottle. I'll show you guys how Truth or Dare is done."

"It's 'Inquiries and Nerve!" Jerome pipes up. Clove ignores him and deftly catches the bottle from Perseus. Setting it one the ground, she spins it. The room stares in silent anticipation as the bottle whizzes round and round in a big blur. "And...it's...oh, crap."

It lands on me.

Now if any other person just spun the bottle on me, I would smirk and maybe shoot an insult, but when a Clove-spun bottle points toward you, it can never end well.

"Truth or Dare?" Clove asks, eyes sparkling with malice.

"Truth," I answer immediately. Those who have made the mistake of answering 'Dare' to Clove have learned their lesson.

Clove snorts. "Aw," she coos. "Is little Caytie-Waytie too scared to accept a dare from the almighty Clove?"

"Shut up," I growl. "And never call me 'Caytie-Waytie. I already have it out for you in the arena, and you don't want to provoke me to kill you even earlier in the Bloodbath than I planned."

Clove suddenly snuggles up close to me, almost on my lap, her face simpering with mock seductiveness. "Oh?" she says quietly, her lips tickling my ear. "Perhaps I would go so far as to say that the brilliant Cato Spartacus Black, winner of the Career trials, super macho ladies' man, brave and daring knight, is a..._coward_?" She relishes the word, emphasizing it so she's nearly spitting the word into my ear.

I shove her off of me with a quick movement from my arm. "You suck," I spit. Clove winks at me, still taking on her mock-seductive persona.

"So I take it that you're choosing dare, then? Or is Cato Spartacus Black going to fall to his _cowardly_ ways?"

Will that girl ever just _shut up_?

"Dare," I huff. "And stop calling me Cato Spartacus Black!"

"Okay, Cato Fartacus Black!" Clove says perkily. Fartacus? Out of all insults, she's choosing the one we giggled about when we were stupid First Years? "Cato Fartacus Black, I have a dare in mind that will blow your mind and test your bravery."

Oh no. Blow my mind? A long list of awful things I might have to do floods through my head. Make out with someone I hate? Bomb the Headmaster's office? Strip naked and do the cha-cha? Being Clove, she could dare me to do any of those things and much, much worse.

"See that big vent pipe over there? Jerome, give me the flashlight."

Jerome reluctantly tosses her the flashlight, which she shines on a huge rusty vent pipe running across the dusty wooden beams above us.

"You will crawl through the vent and keep crawling till you find something to bring back. Oh, and just letting you know, there's a big label on there that says 'Sewage Pipe out of order'. Which means you may come across some old crap. Literally."

Clove finishes with a cocky grin, eyes widening maliciously.

"Alright. I'll do it," I say boldly. It's just a sewage pipe. What could possibly go wrong?

_But it's Clove_, A little voice inside my head tells me. _You may hate her, but you've got to admit, she's cunning. She may have a few tricks up her sleeve._

_Shut up, _I tell the little voice. They call it a conscience, but what good does it do? Either way I'm going to do what I want.

Strolling over to the pipe, trying to maintain a casual facade, I glance upwards. The pipe lies about ten feet above me, covered in dust that looks like it hasn't been disturbed in years. Underneath it lies a pile of rubble, high enough for me to climb it.

I know what I have to do. And it's not going to be easy. Nevertheless, I'm determined to keep my reputation as a brave man.

With a giant leap, I crash onto the pile of rubble, cans and wires and other junk falling on top of my head. Some of the people across the room have dared to snicker, and I register the unmistakable sound of Clove jeering.

_No one jeers at Cato Black._

I gather up my courage, ready to take on Clove's petty dare, and leap onto the heap a bit more gently. This time, it works. I grab a wooden beam to steady myself, wading my legs through the rubble. Maybe I should have told Clove to give me my other boot back, because something sharp and metallic slicing across my bare foot, stinging and trickling hot blood. I almost yelp in pain, but then I remember that a stupid cut won't stop me. I've gotten far, _far_ worse in training.

By now, the wooden beam supporting the pipe is right at my fingertips. I pull myself up easily. Yes, it takes a lot of muscle to lift yourself up when you're 250 pounds. Yeah, that's right. All muscle, no fat!

The group behind me cheers as I swing my other leg onto the beam. I turn around and notice Clove is clapping slowly, that dangerous smirk on her face. "Well done, Cato Spartacus Black," she purrs. "But you still have to pass the real challenge."

I inwardly groan. I completely forgot that the point of climbing fifteen feet above the ground is to crawl through a rusty old sewage pipe and retrieve something.

"Come on, Cato!" one of the girls hollers. I turn around again and wink at Flax, the one who hollered. Her cheeks flush a rosy red, and she turns away, suppressing a grin. Ah, the littlest things that can break a strong woman.

I focus my attention back to the task ahead of me, peering into the pipe. A dank smell wafts through the air, up into my unfortunate nostrils. Sickening images of poop rushing through here flood my head. I shake it off and climb into the pipe.

The scent is vile, overwhelmingly vile. It's like someone threw a dead skunk, some spoiled milk, and the smell of the gym at the end of the day into a blender. My gag reflex wants to react, but I swallow whatever bile almost comes up and crawl ahead.

It's a tight squeeze through the pipe, I can tell you that. Being six feet tall is not much of an advantage in situations like this. The pipe stretches as far as I can see, no light within eyeshot.

This is going to be a long, long journey.

I force myself to keep crawling. Slime and dust tickle my hands and bare foot, making me cringe. Something light suddenly whips my face, and a tickling sensation spreads across my brow. I slam the source of the tickling and remove my hand from my forehead, only to find that I just killed a large spider.

I shudder. Spiders have always been my worst fear...

Wait, no, um, just kidding! I'm not afraid of anything. And I am most certainly not arachnophobic! Its just that spiders...er...make me queasy...you know?

Shaking my hand free of the spider guts, I keep moving into the tunnel. I gingerly brush my hand along the bottom of the pipe, feeling around for something I can take back to the group. Sadly, cobwebs, dust, or roaches probably won't cut it. I glance behind me, and the end of the pipe that I came from is far behind me, so far that the size of the dim flashlight Jerome is shining through the hole is no bigger than a small turtle shell.

"Argh!" A sharp pain cuts through my left palm. Swearing rapidly, I hold it up to my face to check for blood, but it's too dark to see a thing. The cut stings awfully, and the slimy feel of blood crawls down my hand.

But wait...whatever I just cut myself on can qualify as something to bring back to the others!

Frantically but a little more carefully, I probe the pipe for the sharp object. The rough edge brushes my hand, and I gingerly pick it up. It's too dark to see anything, but by the feel of the object I can tell that it's a small stone, maybe a tile.

A general feeling of triumph seeps through me. I did it! I conquered Clove's dare, and now I can go back and show them how brave and tough I am, and they'll cheer for me, praise me, _admire_ me like like they always do...

I somersault so that my head faces the entance, ready to head back to the attic, when something catches my eye. A patch of light, where the rock was. Hushed voices emerge from it. My level of ecstasy increases. Eavesdropping is one of my many talents.

_It's not nice to listen to people's private conversations, _that little voice in my head whispers. I take a moment to consider its statement.

_Rot in hell, little voice in my head! _I tell it. Beaming, I lower my eye to the hole.

Four people sit around a polished mahogany table, stony expressions crossing their faces. The only light in the room is a dusty chandelier, casting eerie shadows along the dark purple walls. The table is a long way below me, and none of the people seem to notice me. I recognize three of them.

One is the Mayor, Nectus Tarwater. He keeps fidgeting and adjusting his spectacles nervously, as if someone is dangling a knife over his bald head. Next to him is Andromeda Hudgens, the Headmistress. Her grey hair is tied in a tight bun, and she listens intently to the conversation, her face cold and calculating, suspicious even. Across from her sits a man with black stubble curled elaborately on his face, dressed in a royal violet cloak. I've seen him on TV before. Seneca Crane, the Head Gamemaker. There's no telling why he'd come all the way to District Two, far north of the Capitol. The man seated next to Seneca is unknown to me, though he looks a little familiar. I think he's another Capitolite, judging by his curled moustache and expensive-looking suit. He seems flustered, like he's had to explain something over and over again.

"What sort of bargain is this?" Hudgens hisses, her green eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What will be given to us in turn?"

The man I don't recognize huffs, making his black moustache bounce slightly. "As I have told you thrice, you will be greatly rewarded, provided that you simply adhere to the President's requests."

Hudgens eyes narrow so that she's nearly squinting, scowling in anger. "This is ridiculous!" She glances at Tarwater appealingly. "Nectus, you won't allow this, will you?"

The Mayor shifts uncomfortably. "It's necessary, Andromeda. I know you don't like it, and nor do I, but we must keep President Snow satisfied."

Hudgens loses it, banging her fist on the table. "We are not giving it to you!" she addresses the Capitolite man firmly. "I don't even entirely understand this!"

This causes the Capitolite to slap his forehead in anguish. "Will you understand _anything_?" he growls through gritted teeth. He opens his mouth, but Seneca Crane holds up his hand and speaks.

"As we have told you four times now, the Capitol's forces have discovered that District Thirteen plans to steal the nuclear bomb from the Black mansion. The Capitol must keep it safe, so we must require you to allow us to move it to the Capitol where Thirteen will not be able to find it. If we take the bomb by force, we suffer the risk of disruption, even an uprising. If you do not condone, your District will be punished. Being the President of the War Council, I have the power to authorize that."

My mouth hangs open, my body frozen in place. District Thirteen? It's real? I never could have guessed that. Sure, we always tell ghost stories about Thirteen at the Academy, but I don't think any of us embraced the fact that Thirteen could still exist. It was common knowledge that Thirteen is long gone, extinct, blown to ashes. But who would have thought that it's still standing...

There's another thing about what the man said that unsettles me. He said Thirteen was going to steal the nuclear bomb from the Black mansion. The Black mansion is my house - well, it was, before my parents died and I was shipped off to the Academy. In one of our many fancy rooms is an old nuclear bomb, an undetonated one that's sort of a souvenir from the Dark Days. It's rumoured to still work, but no one dares touch it, as it's heavily guarded. It makes me a little uneasy that they never bothered to ask my permission, seeing as it's _my_ house now. But if Thirteen is going to bomb the districts or something, the Capitol should go ahead and take the nuke.

Hudgens sighs and leans back in her chair, apparently pondering what the Head Gamemaker just told her.

"Alright. You have yourself a deal. Go take the bomb, but we expect our reward."

The unnamed man shakes his head. "We can't take the bomb quite yet."

Hudgens rolls her eyes, throwing up her hands. "Wonderful, _another_ contract we have to sign?" she huffs exasperatedly.

"No, that's not the problem. Since Ares Black was the owner of the bomb, legally the bomb is passed on to his son Cato, who has inherited it. In compliance to Law E Nineteen, we are forbidden from taking it unless we gain express permission from Cato, or unless he dies. We can't request his permission, as this mission is top secret. So that leaves us with only one choice. To make an agreement with you."

Tarwater now narrows his eyes along with Hudgens. "And what are you proposing, exactly?" Tarwater asks slowly.

A mischievous glint appears in Seneca's lilac eyes. "In order for us to legally recover the bomb, Cato Black must die in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games."


	4. The Serpent

**Chapter 4: The Serpent**

**A/N: Welcome back, everyone! This is Caesar Flickerman, your **_**real**_** Hunger Games commentator. Fortunately, the bumbling idiot Claudius Templesmith will not commentate on this chapter, as he is still in the hospital after fainting yesterday when he found out that his salary was revoked. So, instead, we have a special guest here tonight. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the hottest guy in Panem, FINNICK ODAIR!**

**(_Capitolite_ _fangirls scream uncontrollably with joy as Finnick Odair skips happily onto the stage_)**

**Caesar Flickerman: Well hello, Finnick. It's an honor to have you here on the Author's Note Show tonight. What are your thoughts on –**

**Finnick Odair: I'M SEXY AND I KNOW IT! (**_**Finnick **__**throws off his shirt and starts running around the stage, earning a simultaneous roar from the audience**_**)**

**CF: Okay! Um, yes, very…er…insightful. So, as I was saying, what are your thoughts on the competition so far?**

**(**_**Finnick, panting, finally sits back down, grinning.)**_

**FO: Sorry, Caesar. My sexiness impulse was triggered by myself. Anyway, I think the competition is brilliant. I mean, have you seen Cato? She's so cute!**

**CF: Here we go again…**

**FO: I mean, have you seen her hair? It's so silky and smooth, and her muscles are toned and hard, and –**

**CF: Finnick. Cato is a **_**boy**_**.**

**FO: (**_**bursts into tears**_**) NOOO! NOW I HAVE TO SETTLE FOR ANNIE CRESTA!**

**(**_**awkward silence. Finnick blushes.)**_

**FO: That was sarcasm. **

**(**_**Every Capitol woman goes into hysterical fits of laughter at Finnick's oh-so-dreamy wits.**_**) **

**FO: But really, Cato's a dude?**

**CF: According to our records, yes.**

**FO: I highly doubt that. If you don't mind, do you think we can discuss this?**

**CF: NOT AGAIN! **

**(**_**throws chair at Finnick, knocking him out. All the girls scream in rage. Annie Cresta bounds on to the stage and attacks Caesar Flickerman with a trident. Peacekeepers are supposed to rush to stop her, but they think Caesar deserves it, like, how dare someone hurt the dreamy Finnick Odair?)**_

**CF: Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Oof! OW! Really, Annie, there is no need to get violent here! Annie – OW! Alright, everyone, I'm a bit busy trying not to die, so enjoy the Reaping of Clove McKinnon! OWWWWW!**

* * *

"Clovey Clovey Clovey Clovey Clovey!"

A big jolt thunders across my shoulder. Opening my eyes groggily, I can just make out the slight form of my little sister/roommate Dannie whacking me with a pillow as hard as she can. Luckily, she's not that strong, so her pillow-hitting skills are pretty pathetic. Nevertheless, it's not the best way to be woken up.

"Dannie, shut uuuuuup…" I moan, trying to swat the descending pillow away to no avail.

"Clovey, it's the freakin' Reaping! Are you gonna miss it or not?"

I bolt up immediately. Oh crap, how could I forget? Today is my day. Today is the day I'm going to volunteer! I leap out of bed and throw on my usual outfit of black jeans, red tank top, and a leather jacket. I grab a brush and comb out my long mane of dark brown hair and then tie it in a messy bun.

Dannie nods, impressed. "When did you learn to get dressed so quickly?"

"When did you learn to not mind your own business?" I retort.

"When I was ten, and I spied on you and Cato fighting."

I roll my eyes. "Wow, Dannie, that's so – wait, you were watching us?"

Dannie nods smugly, "Yeah."

I give her a good-natured (mostly) punch and walk out the door. "Meet me at the Reaping!" I call.

Strolling down the long corridors, a sense of empowerment spreads through me. Today is my day. The day when I will finally do what I've trained for since I was ten. I'll become a tribute in the 74th Hunger Games.

When you live at the Career Academy, you don't just get to volunteer if you want to. You have to pass the Career Trials six months before the Reaping. The Trials consist of five sections: hand-to-hand combat, distance weapons, running, survival skills, and, the best part, the persuasive speech. You have to perform in each of the five sections in front of the Board of Judges, or BOJ. The BOJ watches you perform, keeps track of your skill in each section, and at the end, they take a vote on who they want to volunteer.

In the girls' division, I was by far the best at the speech. Everyone else was like 'uhhhhhh I want to be a tribute cuz I'm…like…good and everything', but I had the judges hooked right off the bat.

If you win the Career Trials, not only do you get the honor of volunteering, but you gain extra privileges and an unspoken respect from the entire District.

Well, the entire District…except for Cato Black.

Take the biggest idiot you could ever imagine. Now multiply that by twenty-two. That's Cato.

Quite frankly, I have no idea how he won the judges over in the persuasive speech sector, as the girls' division competed at the same time. Yes, Cato has mastered hand-to-hand combat, and muscle, and survival skills, and spear throwing, and ultimate stupidity, but he sucks at running, and has the cleverness of a rock.

Rocks aren't clever, in case your microscopic brain cells haven't figured that out.

I walk into the great hall, about to head out the door, when I spot none other than Cato Black coming toward me. My excitement levels take a leap. No, not because I like him, but because he is so fun to insult. All he cares about is his reputation, so if you use even the most pathetic insult on him, he'll pick a fight. Take last night for example. Cato wanted to kill me just because I accidently sat on his lap.

Speaking of last night, the only reason I went to the initiation is because we all planned it to embarrass Cato. It worked, and I'd have to say, it was even worth getting the Yugoslavian liquid dumped on my head.

"Hey, Clovey!" he calls with a jolly twang. I roll my eyes. Everyone knows that I hate it when people other than Dannie call me that, but after eight years of 'Clovey' being Cato's wittiest insult, I've gotten used to it.

"What?" I spit. "Are you here to kill me just because I taped all your underwear to the climbing wall?"

He jogs up to me, raising his eyebrow. "Oh shut up, Clove – wait, WHAT?!"

I burst out laughing with glee. Last night right before the Truth or Dare game when Cato had just left the Training Floor and went to take a shower, I stole all his underwear from his room and duck taped it all across the climbing walls.

"Oh, nothing," I giggle mockingly. Cato cocks his head suspiciously, and then he shrugs, smiling again, apparently believing that I'm innocent.

I suppress a howl of laughter. Can you get any thicker?

"I don't think you'd want to mess with a Career, the reigning champion of the Careers to be exact," he retorts, catching my stifled snort. He seems really proud of his dimwitted insult. That won't last long…

I pretend to frantically glance around. "Career? What Career?" I shout in mock panic. I whip my head back toward him. "All I see is an idiot whose inexistent mind hasn't processed the fact that I'm going to kill him in the Bloodbath."

And with that, I jog away, leaving Cato Black to sulk and pout about how much better I am than him.

As I'm opening the door to the Main Hall, someone calls my name. I turn around, ready to bark a taunt at Cato, when I realize that it's not that bumbling idiot, but a different bumbling idiot; Wanda Burke, scowling at me, and tossing her blonde hair. But wait - it's not blonde…it's bright green!

I release all the laughter I had bottled up inside of me. Wanda is the prissiest girl at the Academy, and her biggest pride is her straight, waist-length blonde hair, which is now ruined. Despite the threatening scowl plastered on her over-glossed lips, it's hard to take her seriously when her hair is the color of rotting asparagus.

"Aw, what happened, little Wandie-Wand?" I coo, though I know exactly why her hair is that revolting color. "Did you break another bottle of acid on your head and ruin your nonexistent reputation?" I gesture toward the crowds of people snickering and pointing at the indignant Wanda.

Wanda's indigo eyes shoot me a look that rivals even my signature glare. She slowly holds up a familiar bright green bottle half-full of a pungent liquid. "Something wrong?" I ask innocently.

"YOU DID THIS!" she shouts, waving the bottle in my face. I join in the snickers of the surrounding crowd. "WHEN YOU SOLD THIS TO ME, YOU SAID THAT THIS BOTTLE WOULD MAKE MY HAIR GROW THICKER!"

I nod, my smirk growing wider and wider across my face. "Yes, indeed I said that. But you signed the contract."

Wanda's eyebrow rises, "What?"

"You signed the contract," I reply smugly. "The contract specifically states that 'The Almighty Clove's Magical Hair Thickening Formula is not responsible for hair greening. Should this event occur, the almighty Clove McKinnon shall still possess her profit of fifty bucks."

Wanda blinks, staring at me blankly.

"That means I still get to keep my fifty bucks, no matter how peculiarly awful your hair color is," I clarify. "Thank you for buying The Almighty Clove's Magical Hair Thickening Formula. Have a jolly good day!"

I turn on my heel and stride away briskly, careful to make sure the now fuming Wanda doesn't catch up with me and rip out my hair or something.

In case you're wondering, yes, I most certainly did just make fifty bucks off of Wanda's desperate need for thicker hair by selling her a bottle of mysterious liquid two days ago.

It was relatively easy. You wouldn't believe the amount of dimwits that infest the halls of the Academy. Some people call it cheating, but I prefer to call it 'good marketing'.

See, I have this amazing strategy for good marketing that works every single time. First, lure in the customer. Second, tell them the advantages of your 'product' in your best infomercial voice. Then, make them sign a contract with a whole bunch of fine print that doesn't actually say anything. Fourth, when the customer gets mad because your product doesn't work, tell them that the contract states that your product isn't responsible for failure. Finally, run away before the customer can kill you, and enjoy your new cash or save it for bribery purposes.

By the way, in case your dimwitted mind hasn't computed it, that liquid wasn't hair thickener. It was green hair dye. No, I wouldn't waste my cash on that, but if you talk to the right guy, he'll smuggle in anything from the nearest convenience store.

You'd think I'd have a reputation as a double-crosser, which I most certainly am, but everyone around here is so stupid that they forget my track record every time I sell them something. However, there are a select few Careers that have half-decent intelligence who are slightly harder to sell stuff to. They know that there's always a loophole to my advertising. They even go so far as to call me a serpent.

I guess it suits me. Serpents have always been my favorite animal. They represent cunning, persuasion, intelligence, trickery - everything I'm made of. One time, when I was a first year, a serpent somehow found its way into the Training Floor. All the kids in the room were freaking out, and the snake bit a few of them. I simply picked it up, and calmed it down. I guess I just have a special connection with serpents.

A burst of chilly air blasts into my face as I'm finally able to step out the door and start to walk down the white marble steps. It gets pretty cold here, even in May right now. District 2 is very far north of the Capitol, where a country called Canada used to be. The harsh, cold mountain weather kind of helps toughen up the Careers who train here. Maybe that's why almost a third of the Victors are from District 2.

The sense of empowerment I had before returns. Today, I will volunteer and go off to the Hunger Games, the entire purpose of my life. Panem will know my name; I will be feared, glorified, praised by millions of people! In Districts 1 and 4, they treat the tributes like celebrities, but here in 2, they treat our tributes like gods.

"Hey Clove," I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I jump out of reflex. Laughing, Jerome appears in front of me. Both Jerome and I have the rare talent of being able to walk completely silently, but we still sneak up on each other periodically, though I'm somewhat better at it. Last time I snuck up on him, he spewed water everywhere.

"Jerome, what did you do?" I ask suspiciously. Today, his bright green eyes are gleaming unusually. I know that glint. It means he's done something mischievous.

Jerome grins. "Oh nothing, I only just made five hundred bucks off of one item!"

I almost squeal. Five hundred bucks off one sale? That nearly beats my record!

"What'd you sell?" I ask, bursting with excitement. Jerome is my partner in 'good marketing'. He's one of the best persuasive talkers at the Academy, along with me.

"The Sexy Buffalo's Woman-Attraction Spray. Perseus bought it," he answers, the gleam in his eyes growing more prominent as we walk toward the square with the crowds across the mountainous terrain. I almost high-five him, but then I remember that high-fives are for six-year-olds and Cato.

The Sexy Buffalo's Woman-Attraction Spray has always been one of our most popular items. Guys are so stupid that they'll pay ridiculous amounts for it because they think if they spray it on them, they will attract more girls. What's inside of The Sexy Buffalo's Woman-Attraction Spray, you ask?

Honestly, you don't want to know. But the contents are so revolting that it repels more girls than it attracts them. But who cares? As long as we have our money, we're good.

"Five hundred bucks..." I say in wonder. How many things could you do with five hundred bucks? Even better, I'm going to the Capitol in a matter of hours, where I can buy some useless junk from a fancy Capitol shop just because I can.

"Can you believe that he paid five hundred just for that little can?" Jerome says, snickering. "That's retarded even for Perseus!"

I nod, laughing. I'm starting to wish the Reaping was tomorrow, just so I could see Perseus smelling like old crap and sulking around because he didn't get any girls. Perseus is one of the major idiots, but even he should know that The Sexy Buffalo's Woman-Attraction Spray doesn't work. I guess he's just that desperate. Just like a lot of the Careers here.

The crowds are growing thicker as we walk down to the square, the snowy mountain caps looming over us. People talk, whisper, and shout with excitement. Some shoot envious looks at me, some hopeful, some approving. That's expected. When you're a tribute, everyone knows who you are, and you become the subject of gossip around town. If you do even one stupid thing, literally the entire district will know about it the next day. Yes, the fame gets annoying, but I try to enjoy it. At least everyone is impressed by me for the most part.

Jerome and I talk and laugh some more, then we finally reach the line where we sign in and get our finger pricked for blood identification. "Name?" the Peacekeeper asks me. "You know who I am," I reply sharply. Even Peacekeepers are able to recognize the newest tributes at a glance. The Peacekeeper shrugs and pricks my finger, waving me along as I say bye to Jerome and head to the eighteen-year-old section.

Quite frankly, I don't see the point of the Reaping. There is not a single year where someone doesn't volunteer. Why doesn't the escort just ask, 'Volunteers?' and let the volunteer just walk to the stage? I'll never understand the Capitol.

The other girls in my section greet me, but they don't try to make giggling conversation with me. Everyone knows I'm not one of those squealing freaks like Wanda. I'm deadly, and I concentrate on training, not on being as prissy as I can.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Reaping of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!" Mayor Tarwater booms into the microphone on the podium. I've always thought that his balding head looks like rubber, that I could just drop him on his head and he would bounce.

The crowd erupts in booming roars. No one here screams like they do in District 1. We roar, we growl like wild animals, forming one huge battle cry, warning Panem that we accept the Capitol's stupid little challenge and that we will destroy whoever gets in our way. Tarwater smiles with pleasure, probably at the prospect of running the best and most warlike district.

"We will now commence with the annual reading of the history of Panem and the Treaty of Treason."

The crowd's roar fades into a simultaneous groan. For most districts the history of Panem and Treaty of Treason is boring, for others it's tedious, but for us it's painstaking. We just want to get to the point.

"Years ago, the continent of North America presided where we now stand. It was prosperous and wealthy, until finally it was brought down in 2071 A.D. by the flooding of Florida, the melting of the polar ice caps, the thousand-meter-high tsunami of New England, the earthquake of San Francisco, the fire of Edmonton, the hurricane of Cancun, the sinking of the Caribbean islands, corrupt rulers, and lastly, World War III. Yet despite the impediments, the nation of Panem rose up out of the ashes of Canada, Mexico, and the United States of America. Thirteen districts lived peacefully, surrounding a shining Capitol. District One stands where northern Mexico and Texas once stood, District Two stands where Saskatchewan once stood, District Three stands where Washington and Oregon once stood, District Four stands where California once stood, District Five stands where Alaska once stood, District Six stands where Manitoba once stood, District Seven stands where Quebec once stood..."

I try not to let my adrenaline explode as the Mayor rambles on and on pointlessly about the locations of the districts and all that jazz. We hear this every single year, why does he have to repeat it over and over again? And why should we care that we're in some ancient province called Sasquatch or something? I tap my foot impatiently. I just want that moment to come, the moment where I can finally scream 'I VOLUNTEER!' and have everyone's eyes on me.

"...District Twelve stands where northern North Carolina and southern Virginia once stood, and District Thirteen lies in dust where Connecticut, New York, and Massachusetts once stood. And now, the Treaty of Treason."

The crowd emits its loudest groan yet. "JUST SKIP IT!" some brave soul dares to yell. Tarwater ignores him and reads the Treaty, but this time, I completely tune him out.

I spot Cato in the crowds and lock eyes with him. I smirk evilly, trying to communicate to him that I'll kill him in just three days. He rolls his silver eyes and turns away, twiddling his thumbs discreetly.

I want to throw a knife at the Mayor's heart now just to make him shut up. It's almost as if he's enjoying reading the Treaty, taunting us by droning on slowly and monotonously. I'm seriously considering just running up there and volunteering right now, when he finally, to the relief and joy of District 2, finishes the speech.

"And now, the list of the Victors of District Two. Jacqueline Thomas, Victor of the First Hunger Games. Darren Wilson, Victor of the Third Hunger Games. Morran Ram, Victor of the Sixth Hunger Games..."

He reads all of the names of various Victors, starting with the first Victors, most of whom are dead now. This time I pay attention, because I want to know who might be mentoring this year. Unfortunately, this takes a while, because we have by far more Victors than any other District.

"And finally, Apollo Clarkeson, Victor of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games," I wink at Jerome, since Apollo is his older and equally hot brother.

"The mentors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games will be..."

I draw in a breath, hoping for Enobaria, my idol. Please be Enobaria, please be Enobaria, please be Enobaria...

"Apollo Clarkeson and Enobaria Flaxwood!"

I almost do a fist pump in the air. Enobaria is the most intelligent by far out of all the Victors from 2. I mean, she ripped out the District 12 girl's throat with her teeth when it came down to the final two! I heard she's the best mentor. Looks like my odds are soaring even higher this year.

Enobaria and Apollo stroll to the chairs on the stage, grinning. They know that me and Cato have spectacular odds, they're probably pumped that they have amazing tributes to mentor.

"Citizens of District Two, please welcome your brand new escort, fresh from the Capitol, Gustavo Sloxanborg!"

I let out a snort. What kind of name is 'Gustavo Sloxanborg'? Only the Capitol...

To make matters worse, Gustavo Sloxanborg wears a silver curled moustache above his lip that bounces ridiculously as he skips toward the podium, pushing Tarwater away roughly. Tarwater lets out an indignant squeak, then sits down.

Gustavo's silver suit glitters blindingly as he flashes us a smile, his teeth also silver. "'Ello, Deestrict Two! It eez time for ze Hunger Games! Who eez ready for ze Reaping, eh?"

Silence. Yes, we are all ready for the Reaping, we have been for an hour. But we don't reply. We are not toddlers, and we will not be spoken to as thus. We are warriors. At least the last escort realized that. Well, she realized that when she got into a near-deadly fist-fight with the girl tribute, but that's not the point. Gustavo is talking to us like we're retarded.

Gustavo chuckles nervously, adjusting his obviously fake moustache. "Alright, alright. We shall now commence with ze Reaping."

He moves over to the boys' bowl and elegantly runs his hand through the slips.

"I VOLUNTEER!" someone yells, no doubt Cato. Sure enough, Cato jogs to the stage, flexing his muscles. As he steps up next to the escort, the crowd hollers, chanting his name. Slightly dazed like he's not sure if this is actually happening, Cato puts on his ferocious face, snarling at the cameras. I'll admit it, he looks pretty menacing, what with his glare and towering six-foot build. Gustavo grins. "And vat eez your full name, eh?" he says into the microphone, then holds it to Cato's head, having to stand on his toes to reach.

"Cato Black," he growls, though you can barely hear him over the crowd's noise.

"Vunderful!" Gustavo cries, the crowd quieting down. He moves over to the girls' bowl.

My heart catches in my throat. It's my time now, this moment that my entire life has been leading up to.

Do it, Clove. Do it.

"I VOLUNTEER!" Gustavo whirls around, staring at me. A grin tempts to spread across my mouth, but I keep it at a threatening smirk. Unlike Cato, I calmly slink to the stage, like a cat, like a serpent, keeping my icy blue eyes focused toward the front of the stage.

I pad up the steps and stop next to Cato. The crowd screams again, and I swear that my applause is louder than Cato's. It finally happened. I, Clove Thalia McKinnon, am a tribute in the Hunger Games.

I still smirk, staring at the mountains in the distance. Gustavo skips over to me. "Ah, a lovely lady!" He tries to caress my cheek, to which I shove him away from me. That creeper is not touching me. Gustavo's cheeks flush, but he recovers quickly. "Vat is your name, mademoiselle?" he asks with excitement.

"Clove McKinnon," I reply, my smirk growing darker and more threatening.

"Vunderful!" He steps between me and Cato and hold up both of our hands. "Ladies and Gentlemen, ze tributes of Deestrict Two!"

The crowd's roar erupts, louder than I've ever heard before. Their battle cry shakes the ground. They call for war, they call for blood, they call for victory.

Victory is what they call for, and victory is what I'll give them.

Because I'm coming back. No matter what it takes.

**A/N: Please note that the same closing line for ever chapter is ON PURPOSE. Don't hate mail me about it. Thanks for reading, the next chapter is in progress!**

* * *

**A/N: Please note that the same closing line for ever chapter is ON PURPOSE. Don't hate mail me about it. Thanks for reading, the next chapter is in progress!**


	5. The Protector: Train Ride Potpourri

**The Protector: Train Potpourri**

**A/N: Hey everyone! I am SO sorry for the lack of an update. Things have been getting busy with drama rehearsal.**

**School is starting on Tuesday, so I probably won't be able to update again till about Wednesday or Thursday. Thanks for all the support!**

**Also, if you want to, check out the tributes I submitted in these SYOTs:**

_**The 150**__**th**__** Hunger Games: SYOT **_**by ActonstrengthALONE – Rye Goldsmith, D9 Female and Minerva Bishop, D6 Female**

_**Vertigo**_** by quiet-little-wallflower – Rye Goldsmith, D11 Female (same tribute, different district)**

_**Just Another Dead: The 109**__**th**__** Hunger Games **_**by IWriteStuffWithWordsInIt – Ellie Versona, D5 Female**

**Enjoy the chapter! :D**

Rain. It trickles down the windows, caresses the ledge of the train, slams itself against whatever surface it can as I watch home speed by. I almost sigh in despair, knowing that this will be my last glimpse of home, but I shake it off.

_Don't think like that_, I scold myself. I'm coming back. Besides, District 1 was never a home to me anyway since the time my parents died.

Yet my home _is_ District 1. Sure, nearly everyone is a stuck-up snob, and not a day goes by when the Sham isn't ridiculed or taunted, but it's where my family is, or what's left of it anyway. I think of everyone in the Sham. I think of Aimee, of Ruby, of Miguel, of Roran, of Louis, of Siobhan, of Ellie…

_Ellie_. The name hits me hard, almost as if someone punched me in the stomach. I know that right now she's probably handing out the salad I chopped up this morning, except the kids won't have gleeful expressions on their faces, but they will glumly shovel the cabbage into their starving mouths. Ellie will be holding back tears because she has to be strong for the others. No doubt she'll be comforting a sobbing Aimee.

_What have I done_?

This thought punches me even harder. How selfish of me was it to volunteer? Sure, I've trained with a spear secretly, but do I really have a chance against the other Careers? What if I don't come back?

"You look happy."

A middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair plops down in the bean bag next to me, watching the train pass by the outskirts of the district, not acknowledging me whatsoever except for that last comment. He exhales loudly and takes a swig from the bottle he holds, fumes of alcohol clouding the air around me. He seems familiar, though I can't quite place him…

"Stackpoole," I say suddenly. "Dionysus Stackpoole." Dionysus won the 41st Hunger Games. I guess he's mentoring this year.

Dionysus turns and looks at me, raising his eyebrows with disinterest. "That's right. Now are you going to say something important or just blabber meaninglessly?" His voice is slurred drunkenly. He tilts his head back again, letting more liquor slide down his throat.

I let out a sigh. So much for a warm, friendly, supportive mentor. "I wasn't blabbering, I was just thinking of your name."

Dionysus shrugs, stretching his arms. "It's better when you don't know their names," he says, yawning lazily, though he speaks with a touch of seriousness. "They're easier to kill. At least, that's what they tell you. But no, the ones you kill just hang right over your head, laugh at your failures, haunt you as long as you live, whisper things in your ears about eternal damnation…they come back, boy. They always come back." He shudders and rapidly takes another swig.

I furrow my brow, wondering what on earth that's supposed to mean. "Well then," I reply. "That really makes me want to be a Victor."

"Well, you're wrong, boy. It would be better to just die, give up right away. The Hunger Games are a lose-lose situation, you know. You don't want to die, but it would be better than winning. There's no point in trying. Better to come home in a white box than have a tainted soul forever…"

Something about this irks me. I jump up off of the bean bag to my feet, my blood boiling. "I have a family to protect, you know!" I shout, my voice getting louder. "I can't just give up on them, the whole reason I volunteered was to come back so they won't have to starve anymore!"

Dionysus clucks his tongue. "Whatever floats your boat. I can already tell I'm not going to like you. I hate mentoring self-righteous people. In the end, they always lose. But they never learn. It's always the awful people who win everything. In Panem, there's no such thing as a happy ending."

I huff in disgust and storm out of the room and down the expanse of the train, not caring where I my legs take me. How could Dionysus be so selfish? What kind of mentor is he, telling me to just give up? What sort of twisted advice is that?

_He was probably just drunk_, I remind myself. But still, getting drunk when you're supposed to be helping your tributes is selfish and irresponsible. I mean, what if I die because of his neglect? How would he feel? No, he probably wouldn't care. He'd be too drunk to notice whether I become a Victor or die in the Bloodbath.

I stop my mental rant for a moment as I stop and observe my surroundings in the room I just entered. Massive mahogany bookcases line the walls, so high that there's a second story to reach the higher shelves. The bookcases are filled to the brim with countless books, and the floor is arranged with desks and lounge chairs and lamps to illuminate the dimly lit room. It must be a library.

I've heard of libraries, but I've never been inside one before. This library is beyond what I ever could have imagined. Shelves upon shelves of all sorts of books flood the room, begging you to pick one up and devour its words.

My excitement can no longer be contained, and I rush forward and scan the books. I pick some random ones off the shelves, and I climb the spiral stairs to the elaborately decorated loft above, sinking into a plush chair and nibbling on a cookie from a plate nearby.

I can't tell how much time goes by, as I'm lost in the dreamland of the stories. I discover pre-Dark Days books written before Panem even existed. _Eragon, The Mysterious Benedict Society, the Chronicles of Narnia._ All of these I cruise through dazedly, enveloped in the worlds of dragons and elves and dwarves, of secret societies, of lions and witches and magical worlds. All my worries fade away as I listen to tales of heroes and magic, all with happy endings.

I've just finished dabbing my tears after reading the seventh book of the Chronicles of Narnia when I notice a cart of books a few feet away. A little neon pink label peeks out from under the cart. I lift up the label and study it. In neat, prim cursive, it reads _To Be Banned From Library IMMEDIATELY_.

I look over the dusty book spines, curiosity filling me to the brim. But if the books are labeled 'To Be Banned', maybe I shouldn't read them.

A title suddenly catches my eye. It's a black book spine with white lettering, and the title is simply _The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins_.

Suzanne Collins? Who's that, maybe a Victor or a notorious Capitolite? And what's the book about?

Perhaps it's a history of the Hunger Games, or maybe a Capitol-biased persuasive essay regarding and justifying the Capitol's rule, or even an autobiography. I ignore my nagging judgment, grab the book, and open up to the first page.

_When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the Reaping._

_I prop myself up on one elbow. There's enough light in the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother's body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim's face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the Primrose for which she was na-_

I nearly jump out of my seat as someone clears their throat. I whirl around and come face-to-face with a scowling and very pink Natalie Fritter.

"Hello," I say brightly, despite the fact that she doesn't look too cheerful. Her glare darkens somewhat. "Er…how's it going?"

With a brisk jolt of her arm, the escort jerks the book from my hand and back onto the cart. "Why were you reading this?" she snaps at me, her neon pink hair bouncing around.

"I rather enjoy reading," I answer her innocently, trying to make her anger fade away using polite conversation. "It's interesting to me. What about you, ma'am? What do you like to read?"

Natalie's anger has not faltered in any way. In fact, she glares at me menacingly as if I just tried to kill her. "If I ever catch you reading this book ever again," she says, her voice low and threatening. "I will see to it that you die slowly and painfully in the Bloodbath. This book has been banned by the President himself, and all owners of it are becoming Avoxes at this moment. If you weren't a tribute, you would be of the same fate."

I wonder what's so bad about the book? I mean, it's probably just an autobiography by the looks of it. Nevertheless, I apologize and try not to gag at the revolting scent of Natalie Fritter's strawberry perfume. She turns around and struts out, her six-inch heels clacking against the floor.

I want to stay in the dreamland of books more than anything, but I turn to the giant mahogany grandfather clock, studying the short hand on 8 and the long hand on 6… _8:30_!

I gasp inwardly. I boarded the train at about 10…so I've been reading for over ten hours. Of course, there's nothing wrong with that, but my stomach is starting to growl. I force myself out of the chair, my legs cramping up from sitting down for so long, and wander the train until I come across a room that amazes me to no end.

A bright fire flickers in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows along the also stone walls, reflecting off the table below, surrounded by four people all of varying moods.

At the head of the table is Natalie, trying to keep up a weary smile, though her frustration is evident in her artificially magenta eyes. Dionysus sits to the left of her, chugging down yet another drink. His face is bloated slightly, probably from non-stop drinking. Cashmere Kardashian, the other mentor, is seated across from him, her lips pursed and absent-mindedly glancing around, rolling her eyes every now and then. Across from her is none other than Glimmer, babbling on nonstop and repeatedly flipping her hair.

What really catches my eye, though, is the contents of the table. It's laden with the most food I have ever seen in my life. All sorts of meats and vegetables, fancy neon drinks. It makes me wonder, why wouldn't the Capitol give any of these riches to the poor?

Cashmere spots me and beckons me forward. "Hey Marvel," she says, snapping out of her disinterest. "Wanna join us for dinner?"

I nod, returning her smile. "Sure, thanks!" I sit down in the only available seat, which is next to Glimmer, who glares at me. Hmph. Maybe she's having a bad day.

"Hi Glimmer," I say, trying to be friendly. After all, she is a Career – I don't want to be targeted by her in the Games.

Glimmer looks me up and down, scrutinizing me intensely. But I can tell she's not studying past my looks; she's wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Who are _you_?" she asks, voice loaded with venom, gesturing toward me like I'm an alley cat that just ate all her food.

"Marvel," I reply, trying to keep annoyance out of my voice. "I'm your district partner. Is there…something wrong?"

Glimmer's scowl shifts to a simpering smile that practically screams 'You suck!'. "Oh, Marble," she says, patting my back, obviously getting my name wrong on purpose. "I would _never _use the word 'hopeless' to describe someone…except in this case." The simpering smile disappears as she gingerly analyzes a strand of my hair with her manicured finger.

"I mean, you are absolutely pathetic! Like, your hair is, like, ugh! And look at your face! Really, Matthew, do you care about your appearance at all?"

Anger boils up inside of me, but I stuff it back down. I'm not the angry type. "No, I don't," I say calmly. "And that wasn't very nice, by the way. Oh, and my name is Marvel, not Matthew, if you please."

Glimmer raises her eyebrow in disbelief, as if she was expecting me to lash out or get really mad. Finally, she shrugs it off and keeps yapping to the others. Apparently she just got engaged to Cashmere's twin brother, Gloss Kardashian, who is, according to Glimmer, 'like, the hottest guy in the world'. Cashmere doesn't seem too happy about Glimmer becoming her sister-in-law. All I can think is that I feel bad for Gloss. If he stays with her, he's in for one hell of a life.

I just tune her out and focus on the food. The best smell I've ever detected travels up my nose in a tempting aroma of cinnamon and oranges, rosemary and bacon. A plate of seasoned steak lies in front of me, calling out my name, waiting to be placing on my craving tongue. I readily reach for a piece with the tongs, placing it on my plate with haste, as my stomach is screaming with hunger. Using the knife, I cut a piece and cram it into my mouth. Warm, juicy flavor floods my tongue, flavor like I've never tasted before. I can't believe that the people in the Capitol have this sort of thing every day...

"Shut up," Dionysus snaps, interrupting the dialogue – well, monologue, due to the fact that Glimmer is the only one who's talking and refuses to let anyone else say a word. Glimmer pouts dramatically.

Despite the fact that I sort of dislike him, I can't help but think _THANK YOU SO MUCH, DIONYSUS._

"So," Cashmere begins, also relieved that Glimmer has finally shut up. "I guess we should begin our first strategy meeting now. First, let's find out your strengths. Marvel, why don't you start?"

My throat swells up with dreading. I hate talking about my strengths. It makes me feel arrogant, but I guess it's for the best. "Oh, um…I'm good with a spear, and, um….yeah. You know?"

Cashmere nods. "Looks like District One got a humble tribute for the first time. As far as I can tell, you seem pretty smart. After all, you spent what, ten hours in the library? How many books did you read in there?"

I can feel my cheeks redden. "Nine," I answer quietly, staring at my plate.

The mentors and Natalie gasp. "Whoa…" Cashmere says in awe.

"Intelligent one, he is," Dionysus murmurs. "I could tell from the moment I looked at him."

My cheeks reach the reddest shade one can ever imagine. "No, no…" I say urgently. "I'm not that smart…really, I just read fast, that doesn't mean…uh…um…" I feel like punching myself for stumbling over my words so much.

Cashmere laughs. "Well, obviously we're making you very uncomfortable right now, but honestly you are really smart. But for sake of your dignity, let's move on to Glimmer."

Oh, no. Something tells me that we'll be sitting here for a few hours while Glimmer recites all the strengths she thinks she has.

"Please keep it under fifty," I hear Cashmere mumble.

Glimmer perks up, now interested. "Sure! Alright, now where to begin…ah! Okay, here are my strengths. I'm pretty, gorgeous, perfect, amazing, sexy, gorgeous, muscular, well-rounded, awesome, witty, smart – oh my god, I am SO smart -, intelligent, spectacular, nice, kind, humble, sweet, good at everything, talented, strong, popular…"

"At least she's good at naming synonyms," Dionysus whispers not-so-discreetly to me and Cashmere. Glimmer clearly didn't hear him, as she keeps naming random adjectives, some of which aren't even words, like 'sexylicious'. After a much too long time, she finally pauses.

"Oh my gawd!" she shrieks. "Where did my ring go?" Glimmer dashes out of the dining car, shouting, "Ring! Come back here! Hello?!"

Dionysus snickers. "Special, isn't she?" I laugh. It's not nice to gossip, but Glimmer has it coming in this case.

"With prissy-cats like that, you'll be in for quite an interesting Games, Marvel!" Cashmere exclaims.

I join the growing chorus of mocking laughter again.

Honestly, can you get any dumber than Glimmer Maybelline?


	6. The Serpent: Obstacles

**The Serpent: Obstacles**

**A/N: Welcome back, Ladies and Gentlemen! My name is Claudius Templesmith, your **_**actual **_**Hunger Games commentator. Where is Caesar Flickerman, you ask? Well, don't worry, he's right here!**

**(**_**Gestures across the stage to a disheveled Caesar Flickerman, bound to a chair and gagged. He makes muffled shrieks, attempting to squirm out of his restraints to no avail.**_**)**

**Now, everyone, let's discuss the economy of Panem. The stock markets are –**

_**Purple-haired member of audience**_**: JUST GET ON WITH THE CHAPTER! SILVERAQUATRIDENT IS BETTER THAN YOU!**

**(**_**Many murmurs of assent, because the Capitol adores SilverAquaTrident and her unquestioned awesomeness**_**)**

_**Claudius Templesmith**_**: (**_**rolls eyes**_**) Okay, fine. Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Miss Clove McKinnon on the train! The next chapter will be in the Capitol, with either Miss Glimmer Maybelline or Mister Cato Black, as the spectacular SilverAquaTrident has not decided yet. Happy Hunger Games!**

I'm sprawled out on the ridiculously bouncy bed in my room on the train, trying to force myself to get to sleep. Yet no matter how many times I count sheep, press pressure points, and relax my body, I don't feel a wink of exhaustion. I'm still pumped with adrenaline from the Reaping.

It seems forever ago when I said goodbye to Dannie this morning. I think back to her hopeful smile, the flicker of sadness in her wide, icy eyes. Sure, she's nowhere near as clever as me, but I'll miss my little sister. She, along with Jerome, is the only person I really care about.

The thought hits me suddenly – what if I don't come back?

I literally slap myself, a stinging sensation lingering behind on my cheek. Of course I'm coming home. I'm the best Career in the district. I'm sure 1 and 4 won't be quite as good, they never are. Yes, the other two Career districts generally have skilled tributes, but it's 2 that brings the real hardcore ones to the Games. That's why we get all the Victors, great and wholesome people like Enobaria.

Speaking of Enobaria, out first strategy meeting went better than I ever could have hoped. That's right, we haven't even arrived at the Capitol yet, and we're already planning out what we'll do in the arena. Sure, me and Cato did get into another near-death fight, which I definitely would've won, but that's not the point. Just as I predicted, Enobaria is an amazing mentor. I'll admit, she's as smart as me, if not more. She filled me in on what to do at the Cornucopia, how to get more kills, what districts the strong ones and weak ones are usually from. As far as I can tell, it's pretty good advice.

I sigh and roll over on my side. I've always hated doing nothing, just lying there without a purpose. I want to steal something, to manipulate someone, to run or yell or throw some knives.

Throwing the obscenely heavy sheets off my sweaty body, I realize that I just can't take it anymore. I have to do something now or I might go insane. I leap out of bed and open the door, still wearing just a tank top and shorts. Moonlight from the wide windows floods through the room, craggy mountains revealing their purple shapes very close by. We must be crossing through the Frëdenhurst Pass. I don't know why they call it that, but it's where some of the tallest mountains are. We must be getting close to the Rockies, which encase the Capitol.

A noise rings from somewhere ahead of me, some scuffling and a few voices. Someone must be here.

I discreetly stalk around a corner, footsteps barely disturbing a fleck of dust. A large figure sits on a blood red couch, craning its neck to see the bright screen ahead. On the screen is a stage with a stupid-looking lady bedazzled in pink, screeching in her unmistakable Capitol accent. Above her hangs a banner reading "74th Hunger Games – District 1". Whoever is staring at the screen must be watching the Reapings.

I pad a little closer so that I'm next to the couch. The figure turns out to be Cato, blonde hair falling in his face, crunching on some potato chips. Hate spreads through me like a blot of ink in a puddle. I hate it when I see that guy, he just darkens my day. But what is he doing?

It seems like he's writing down things about the tributes. I raise an eyebrow. Cato and battle strategy don't mix. I mean, if he's not smart enough to add one and one, how can he be noticing details about the tributes?

Oh, I know. He's probably 'noticing details' about the girl who just slinked up to the stage on the screen. I'll admit it- she's really pretty, with emerald eyes and blonde hair cascading down her back. But it's the annoying kind of pretty, the kind where it's so obvious that all she spends her time doing is smearing crap on her eyelashes and playing around with guys.

I sneak even closer to the couch, now peering around Cato's head, studying the girl close up. Three words scream themselves to me as I look at her:

_What an idiot_.

She smiles and waves to the crowd and looks absolutely harmless, as if she were off to go pick some flowers or something. The way that everyone is gushing over her is disgusting. I can already tell that she will be a problem in the Career alliance.

My attention returns to Cato, who is now scribbling even more furiously. It would be funny to scare him right now, to see him jump twenty feet in the air…

I lean in close to his ear and whisper, "Yes, she's awful, but even Miss Retarded Princess is too smart for you."

To my relish, Cato screeches like a dying pigeon and falls off the couch. I double over laughing as his cheeks flush red and he glares at me. "Why are you here?" he grumbles as he lifts himself back onto the sofa. I follow him, plopping down on the cushion next to him. "I could ask you the same question," I reply, smirking devilishly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were undressing her with your eyes."

Cato sighs, exasperated. "No, I was taking notes."

"Taking notes on what? Her boobs?" I spit maliciously as his cheeks are now glowing red.

Cato flicks my forehead with his forefinger and thumb, a sharp pain spreading through my skin. Man, that guy can flick. "No! I'm watching the Reapings so that I can pick out the tributes' strengths and weaknesses."

"Why, so you can detect District One's weaknesses and mix around with her before she can fend you off?"

"SHUT UP!" Cato snaps. I laugh again at his discomfort. "Go away, Clove," he growls.

I shake my head, still smirking. "Nah, I think I might stick around for awhile. What's the girl's name?"

"That's Glimmer," Cato responds as he starts jotting stuff down again. "The guy is Marvel."

I turn my head toward the screen just in time to see this Marvel guy. A shudder runs through my spine. He looks like a threat. Marvel's arms are toned and muscular, though his expression is nervousness, like a frightened badger. Unlike Glimmer, it's obvious that he's not one of those posh pampered freaks that reside in District 1. He's a street rat, definitely, judging by his emaciated stomach, hollow cheeks, and shabby getup. Marvel is not as brawny as Cato, but something about him unsettles me. I can tell by his expression that he's smart, very smart. It's the brainy ones that are usually the problem.

"What, is little Clover-Rover scared?" Cato taunts, noticing my widened eyes.

"Congratulations, Black, that was your wittiest insult yet," I retort. "What a major milestone."

"Oh yeah?" Cato chides. "Well…um…uh…you're stupid!"

I snort, clucking my tongue. "Oh, Cato, darling, you're hopeless. Hey shut up, our Reaping's on!"

We turn to the screen, desperate to see how our angles played off. "Why'd you tell _me_ to shut up? _You_ were talking," I hear Cato mumble. I ignore him and focus on the screen. The commentators are mentioning us, discussing our fearsome reputation and how the odds are most certainly in our favor.

And suddenly, me and Cato are on the stage. My deadly angle worked _perfectly_. I look ferocious, dangerous, cunning, with that twisted smirk lining my right cheek. I grin at the thought of the other tributes watching me, cowering in fear because I'm going to maim them.

Cato also seems dangerous, but he looks stupid as usual. Maybe having a brawny guy about to kill you is not very safe, but us smart people are what really stir fear in other people's hearts.

Just as I guessed, the commentators are now comparing our deadliness levels. Finally, they decide that we're equally deadly (not true).

Cato nods, apparently approving our debut. "Okay, we look awesome. High five?" Cato holds up his hand.

I lick his palm just to annoy him, causing Cato to cringe.

"Wait, here comes District Three. Probably nothing too special."

Sure enough, the two kids are the typical scrawny bunch that hails from 3 every year. Actually, they're both definitely smart, but I think the boy is smarter. He has that look on his face that means he's calculating something, figuring out his plan to survive the 74th Hunger Games.

What a shame that his plan won't work.

Before I know it, the District 4 Reapings are beginning. The two of us study the tributes intently, because they will probably be in the alliance with us. They're both pretty muscular, with swimmers' bodies. The girl, Fiona, has dark auburn hair and sea green eyes. She volunteered, and I can tell immediately from her build that she's a Career. The boy, Triton, who looks similar to Fiona except with blonde hair, got Reaped. He's not a Career, I can tell that much, but he looks like a good fighter.

"What do you think?" I ask Cato, gesturing at 4's pair.

"Not bad," he replies. "We might as well watch the other districts, just to get a sneak peek of our prey.

I nod and turn back to the screen, and we watch all the other tributes get Reaped. Some frown, some start sobbing, some keep their faces void of emotion, but no one smiles, not once.

The girl from 5, Finch, makes me uneasy. Her calculating look tells me that she's also smart, like the guys from 3 and 1. Luckily, Finch has almost no brawn, so we can probably get her in the Bloodbath.

After the two from 10 get Reaped, one of which is crippled, my mind begins to wander. Most of them are pathetic, Bloodbath definitely. Some girl named Dimity from 8 tried to run away!

I allow myself to daydream, staring blankly at a landscape painting of mountains. These tributes are a boring bunch, easy to kill. I almost wish we had a challenge. That would make the Games much more interesting if there was some other tough non-Career…

"Clove…" Cato taps my shoulder. "We have a problem. And its name is Thresh."

I turn to the screen, and my heart leaps into my mouth. The male from 11 is what causes the dislocation of my heart, and I immediately regret what I said about hoping for tough non-Careers.

The guy is huge, and I mean HUGE. I've seen some pretty big guys like Adrian and Cato at the Academy, but the size of this tribute is insane. Thresh has to be at least 6'6, with a stocky build and extremely hard muscles. I can't tell if he's smart or not, but his menacing build is enough to make the average Career run crying to her mommy.

Good thing I'm not the average Career.

I turn to Cato, who also seems shaken. "Let's keep an eye on him," I suggest. "Great idea," mutters Cato.

As 11's Reapings come to a close, I prepare myself to laugh at 12's usual pitiful tributes.

The escort draws a name out of the bowl and shouts "Primrose Everdeen!" A twelve-year-old girl with blonde hair and a sweet face walks to the stage, trying hard not to show her despair. Sometimes I wonder why the Capitol does this to innocent things like her.

"Prim! PRIM!" someone screams in anguish. I give Cato a questioning look. What's going on?

"I VOLUNTEER!"

I nearly shriek. District 12 has never, not once, gotten a volunteer. They don't celebrate the Games like we do, but they remember the real meaning behind it.

I lean forward to see who volunteered. A girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, is dashing through the crowds. The kids make a pathway for her as she shoves Primrose Everdeen aside, holding out her arms as if to protect her. "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

The entire district gasps in unison. They probably wonder why some poor soul would ever willingly give up their life. Primrose screams the girl's name as a guy who resembles the volunteer carries her away. Tears pour down the poor 12 year old's face.

That's when something hits me. The volunteer is Primrose's sister, and she volunteered to save her little sister's life.

I never thought I'd ever say this, but that is the most kind, beautiful, amazing thing I have ever seen.

The cameras zoom in on the girl so we can get a good look at her.

And with that, my heart travels all the way from my throat back down to the pit of my stomach with a thump.

"She's been trained!" we holler in unison.

"I can tell by her arms –"

"Her stride –"

"Her body –"

"Her expression –"

"She can use a bow and arrow, and she's really good at it!" Cato points out immediately. We've been trained to know what weapon a person uses and how well they use it just by looking at their build and stride.

"This is _not_ good!" I groan. "We had enough threats already!"

"We need to get rid of her as fast as possible!" Cato agrees, on the near edge of panicking.

"She has to be good, she freaking volunteered for her sister!"

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. I can't freak out, not in front of my arch nemesis. This girl, - Katniss, I heard the escort say – unsettles me the most out of all the problem tributes. Sure, Careers pop up in places like 3 or 7 or 9 or 10 sometimes, but how can someone possibly train in a place like 12? Everyone there, including Katniss, is starving and emaciated. If they can't afford food, how can they afford weapons?

The guy tribute is called up after that. He doesn't seem as threatening, but he's got some muscle. I think he could be good with a knife.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the escort chirps. "How 'bout a round of applause for this year's tributes?"

No one claps. Not one person makes a sound. They stare up defiantly at the escort, scowling and glaring at her in a way that sends shivers down my back. This District knows that the Games are really about the Capitol proving their authority, not just a silly little pageant.

That's when it starts:

One man touches three fingers to his lips and holds them out toward Katniss. I think that's 12's signal of respect, I learned that in District Studies. Then another person does that, then another, until finally the entire district is showing their respect to Katniss Everdeen, the girl who gave her life for her sister. The seal of Panem spreads across the screen and the anthem plays, then it blacks out.

We sit there in silence for awhile, pondering our chances. Despite the threats, I think that –

"Our odds are still roughly the same," Cato says, somehow finishing my exact thought. "Remember, we're still the most powerful tributes in the competition."

I nod, yet my mind is now elsewhere. Katniss could be an obstacle to coming home. I need to come back, I need to win the Games for Dannie and Jerome and everyone who I love, which is not that many people. And if Katniss Everdeen gets back home, that means I won't. Only one tribute can win, that's the way it's always been.

But of course, Katniss _is_ going to get back home.

Motionless and unknowing, in a white box.

**A/N: Hey everyone! Thanks for all the reviews! I like, love, adore, admire, and endorse reviews. They are appreciated, as are *coughcough* FAVOURITES. **

**Also, I recommend that you try out 'Review Tag' in the Starvation Forum. It's a great way to get reviews. And thanks to MockingjayWithFangs for the constructive criticism! :D **

**By the way, I am planning my next fanfic, but I can't decide what it will be about. Check out my profile and vote in the poll! :D**

**! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! # ! **


	7. The Queen: Almost Okay

**The Queen: Almost Okay**

**A/N: Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen! This is Claudius Templesmith again, and I am here with Caesar Flickerman, who has now been untied from his chair!**

**(_Claudius Templesmith gestures to a dazed Caesar Flickerman, who, albeit untied from his chair, has been injected with laughing gas. Caesar lets out a giggle.)_**

**CF: Heh heh, I'm on TV! Heh heh, heh heh... I'm SEXY!...hee hee!**

**(The entire Capitol shoots him a unified blank stare. Five minutes later...)**

**CT: Anyway, the brilliant SilverAquaTrident has thought a rather important thought today: though everyone loves to hate Glimmer (well, as far as she can tell, anyway), no one has any reason to root for her, or Cato or Clove, come to think of it. Well, as the drama begins to stir up a few chapters later...er, you might reconsider who you're rooting for! After all, this story is not completely canon to the book or the movie. The almighty SilverAquaTrident would also like to sincerely apologize for not updating sooner, as she has recently started school, and teachers are bombarding her with some strange phenomenon called 'Homework'. Moving on, Caesar, what are your thoughts on the odds of each of the Career tributes so far?**

**CF: Hee hee...Cato's such a sweet little girl...hee hee...**

**CT: AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE E -**

**_(Five minutes late_r)**

**- EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!**

**(_Claudius falls down and dies from an overdose of dimwitted discussions concerning the controversy over Cato's gender_)**

**CF: Hee hee...you're _dead_...hee hee...Happy Hunger Games!**

A feeling of triumph washes over me as I stare out the polished window. The silver and golden buildings of the Capitol loom sky-high above the train as it moves slower and slower. Capitolites scream in excitement as they see the train pulling in, dressed in neon and silk and lace. Their fabulous sense of style is one of the only things in the world that I admire, besides myself. A grin spreads across my perfectly dreamy face. This is where I belong. Sure, I go here every summer with my father, but I was never praised those times like I am here.

They scream my name, chanting with glee, and I can spot every last man swooning over my luxurious presence.

Of course, I don't actually _hear_ them chanting my name, but I just know they are. How can they resist? My name has such a sexy ring to it. Go ahead, say my name. I know you want to, you want to see if it really _does _have that sexy ring to it. Just sound it out for me. Gl..i…mm…er. See? Now just say it over and over again, and you'll be satisfied.

Actually, no, you won't be satisfied. No one can ever get enough of me, not even I can!

I run through various angles in my head that I can play to the crowd. Do I want to seem pretty? Hot? Gorgeous? Beautiful? Astonishing?

After thinking it through for about eighty-ten seconds, a genius idea sprouts from my amazingly big brain – I could combine _all _of those angles!

So here I stand, waving and flashing smiles at the crowd, being pretty, hot, gorgeous, beautiful, and astonishing all at the same time. Yes, that's right, I _can_ do that! I'm just that breathtaking.

By now, the crowd is freaking out. No, not at that guy…what's his name…Marcus, I think, slouching nearby. The Capitol loves _me_, not _him_, and rightly so.

That's another thing the Capitol and the districts have in common. They both love me!

"Um…Glimmer?" Someone's obviously un-manicured finger taps my shoulder.

"What?" I snap, whirling around. It's that ...what's his name... Mack guy, raising his eyebrows.

"It's just…um…you're coming across as a bit…arrogant." He flinches as he says the word, as if his instincts are telling him that I'm about to slap him.

Well, at least his instincts are useful, because indeed, I do slap him across the cheek, as hard as I possibly can. _No one_ insults Glimmer Maybelline, the prettiest and richest girl in all of the districts. I have that kind of unspoken authority over others; no one ridicules me - after all, there's nothing about me to ridicule, because I'm perfect.

"Go away, Matthew," I growl at the street rat. "You're so _stupid_!" I suppress a smile, proud of my well thought-out insult.

Mateo gapes at me. "That was completely uncalled for! And also, please call me _Marvel_, that's my name, not Marty or Matthew or whatever you call me."

I sigh dramatically. "Wow, you're so picky, Marble! Well, we've just arrived by the looks of it, so I'm leaving. I have better things to do than associate with street rats." I emphasize the word, making sure that he knows exactly what I think about street rats.

Oh, just letting you know, I don't like street rats. They're too frumpy when it comes to style, they need to get with the program!

I turn on my five-inch heel and stroll away, toward the door that the stylish Natalie Fritter is opening just now. Without any goodbyes, I saunter out of the train and onto the streets of the Capitol.

While breathing in the sweet aroma of food and civilized people, a sense of belonging rushes through me. This is where all the great and powerful people are, people of my kind. I glance at Mackle, who gawks at his surroundings, almost seeming enraged, probably because the Capitol never shared their wealth with him and the other street rats.

_Sucks for him_, I giggle to myself. I don't have much longer to enjoy the view of the Capitol, however, because the crowds have now caught up with us. Cameras flash blindingly everywhere, and reporters shove microphones toward my mouth, screaming questions at me. I was right; they really are chanting my name. I reward them with a smile and blow a kiss toward a group of particularly hot guys, one of who faints.

Suddenly, as I'm basking in my much-deserved glory, someone dares to disrupt me. Cashmere. She drags me with an iron grip around my wrist toward the main doors of the Training Center. No matter how much I struggle, she keeps on dragging me away, away from my innumerable fanboys. Finally, I let her pull me through the throngs of people. I don't want to seem like a weakling in front of the spectacular Capitolites.

I stumble through the doors into the main foyer of the training center, breathing heavily. Ignoring Cashmere, I stop to take in my surroundings. The foyer is beautiful even on my standards, which is saying something. The entire place is black, with glowing blue accents all over the place, creating a modern, ghostly sort of effect.

I walk with Dionysus, Cashmere, Natalie, and Marcus to the front desk, where a lady elegantly dressed in neon green sits, blonde hair curled into green-streaked ringlets, complemented with green glasses with spikes at the top corners. She smiles as she sees us.

"Ah, hello there!" she chirps. I grin in reply. I've always loved Capitol accents, they're so beautiful and smooth, like freshly washed satin.

"Marvel Tomlinson and Glimmer Maybelline, District One," Dionysus mumbles at the green lady.

"Wonderful!" she chimes. "Gossip has spread around the Capitol that you're the best Career in the district!"

I wink at Marble- I've decided that is officially his name -knowing that the green lady is definitely talking about _me_, not him. I'm not sure he even qualifies as a Career, anyway.

As the mentors and Natalie step into an elevator, me and Marble walk to another elevator. The doors slide open, and I notice him feeling the metal, fingering the buttons as if they're the most magnificent thing he's ever seen.

"Why are you so amazed?" I ask the street rat, my voice loaded with venom.

Marble cocks his head, staring at me like I'm insane. "T-this is so…like…uh…" I watch with amusement as he gestures wildly, trying to find the right words for his astonishment. I'm about to laugh at his stupidity when I hear something behind us. I turn around, and there stands another girl getting into the elevator. Her hair is a rich auburn color, and her eyes sparkle a deep blue-green. She's pretty, but nowhere near my league, of course. She smiles at us good-naturedly.

"And who are you?" I snap. Marble gapes at me.

"Glimmer! That wasn't very nice!"

The girl shoots him an amused look. I don't blame her. It's not often that you see a supposed Career reprimanding someone for not being very nice.

Shrugging it off, she holds out her hand to Marble. "I'm Fiona," she says. "I'm a female tribute – well, I guess that much is obvious."

Marble laughs as the doors close, shaking her hand. "I'm Marvel, District One. I'm also a female tribute," he jokes, and the two of them laugh. My blood boils. How can he disgrace the name of the Careers by associating with non-Careers?

"So I guess that makes you District One's male tribute?" the idiot Fiona asks me. I huff, scowling at her. How immature can you get?

"Indeed," Marble jokes brightly. "What district are you from?"

"Me? Oh, I'm from Four, and also a Career. Are you two going to be in the pack this year?"

"Of course!" me and Marble respond in unison, though our tones are completely opposite in emotion.

Before I know it, we reach the first floor. Marble waves to Fiona as the doors slide back open. "See you soon, buddy!" he tells her.

"You too, hopefully!"

As soon as the doors close and Fiona is shooting up to the fourth floor, I slap Marble even harder than I did last time. "_See you soon, buddy_?!" I hiss at him. "What were you thinking?! We are the Careers. We don't have _buddies_!"

"I do!" Marble protests. "I have _lots_ of buddies! There's Aimee, and Ellie, and Siobhan, and Miguel, and Ruby, and –"

"I DON'T CARE!" I shriek. "YOU CAN'T JUST GO AROUND SAYING STUPID THIINGS TO OTHER CAREERS! THAT WILL MAKE _US_ LOOK STUPID!"

I realize that I'm holding him by his collar so that his nose is inches from mine. "Okay, okay!" Marble says. "Sheesh, just trying to be friendly!"

Before I can slap him again, he scurries away from the room. Good riddance. Trust me, having a street rat around kind of darkens your day.

I wipe my hand on my blouse and gaze around at the golden themed dining room, which I'll have to admit is even more extravagant than mine. Everything is gold and white - the walls, the plates, the lining of the windows. The Capitol has _such_ a sense of style! That's yet another reason why I should be a Capitolite, because my sense of style is amazing.

Just like everything else about me.

* * *

**AWHILE LATER, 19:00 PM**

"Pass me the chicken," I order Marble. He starts to protest, but then he quickly pushes the platter of grilled chicken toward me. I don't blame him. He's learned his lesson from the last time he tried to contradict me today.

The food here is the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted, far better than the crap our stupid Avox Mina used to cook up. The chicken is tender, the drinks are refreshing, and everything is perfect.

Like me.

"So," Dionysus slurs, taking a sip of deep red wine. "Since our first attempt at a strategy meeting failed last time -"

"Yeah," I cut in. "It's all your fault, Marble!" I shoot the dirty street rat a pointed look.

"No it wasn't!" Marble protests. "And it's _Marvel._ I'm starting to think you're doing that on purpose."

"Hey, hey, break it up," Cashmere says, waving me down as I'm about to slap Marble for the third time today. "Anyway...let's not start with reciting our strengths this time, okay? First of all, will you both be part of the Career pack?"

"Um...I...I guess..." Marble stutters, looking nervous and conflicted. I snort. He's _such_ an airhead.

"Well, duh!" I exclaim. "How would I not? I'm pretty, and smart, and awesome, and talented, and gorgeous, and hot, and pretty, and awesome -"

"STOP IT!' Marble screams, his face contorted in rage. We all stare at him in awe. Sure, Marble's a strange one, but we've never seen him shout like that before.

"Get over yourself!" he shouts, shooting me a glare that rivals even _my_ best glares. "Do you really think that your arrogance is going to help any of us?! Think about it! Think about how many of District One's tributes have made it to the final two and then died because they got too cocky! If you will just get over yourself, then maybe we can actually get some work done!"

Silence passes, ringing off of the white-washed walls. After another moment of shock, I kick my chair behind me. I storm out of the room and into a random bedroom, throwing myself onto the mattress and burying my face in a plush pillow.

Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes, though I can't explain why. Marble is nothing to cry about, or even think about, for that matter. He's just a dirty street rat, with no guts and no looks.

Not able to contain myself, I pick up a knife from an extra utensil set and throw it into the wall, where it lodges firmly in a spot between two picture frames. How I wish that spot was my district partner...

And suddenly, the reason why I'm so upset hits me, like a two-hundred pound sack of mascara. This is the first time in my life that someone hasn't approved of me, let alone adore or envy me. It hurts me in a way I've never hurt before, and I feel useless, witless, worthless.

_Quit thinking like that_, the little voice in my head tells me. _Just because some retarded street rat thinks you're awful doesn't mean that you are.  
_

But that voice in my head makes me feel no better, not at all. When I doubt myself, which is not often, I always let the little voice remind me of how perfect I am. This time, the voice only makes me feel worse. Deep down inside, I know that the guy whose real name might be Marvel is definitely not just a retarded street rat. Something about him is different, more different than I've ever seen in a person. He has something good about him that I don't.

_Come off it! _the voice yells. _You're not acting like yourself!_

I sigh, because I know it's true. I must have had too much wine, or maybe I'm in shock or something. Glimmer Maybelline doesn't cry or complement others or insult herself. It's just not the way it works. I'm too perfect for that.

A knock suddenly sounds on the door. Immediately, I sit up and swipe the tears from my eyes. "Who's there?" I snap, with more bite in my tone than I intended.

"It's me," a kind voice says softly. Before I have time to process who it might be, the person opens the door a crack and a warm amber eye peeks through. "Can I come in?"

Without an answer, Marble walks in, shutting the door behind him. "Are you okay?" he asks meekly, possibly noting the remnants of tear tracks down my face.

_Slap him_, the voice commands me. _Don't associate with street rats._

But somehow, I'm frozen into place. He sits down beside me, tentatively wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

_Get it off! Get it off!_ the voice commands me. But I let his arm stay there for some reason. My throat burns from trying to hold back tears, tears that I can't explain.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," Marble says softly, in a voice that can tame a lion. I want to tell him it's okay, or tell him to shut up, but I'm still paralyzed. I hate Marvel, how could he be so nice to me? We're Careers, it doesn't work that way.

'Listen," he continues in the same entrancing voice, his amber eyes shining with sincerity. "If you ever want to talk about anything, just...just let me know, okay?"

I make a strangled sound, because that's the only sound I'm capable of producing. Finally, I manage to nod. "Thanks," I whisper, but my voice comes out strained and high.

"Hey, that's what district partners are for."

And with that, Marvel softly gets up and leaves, closing the door behind him. I don't understand why, but I don't want him to go. I want him to stay right here, so I can tell him everything. I don't know what I'd tell him about, I'm pretty secretive in general, but...

_GLIMMER, STOP!_ the voice shrieks. _YOU'RE ACTING LIKE AN IDIOT!_

"You're right," I mumble. Why on earth did I just soften up to a street rat? What am I turning into?

No, I'm not turning into anything. I'm still myself, the rich, gorgeous Career. That's the way I'll always be. And Marvel is a street rat, I can't just become, what, his _friend_ or something like that.

Or can I?

_No, you can't,_ the voice says firmly. _You're too out of his league to talk to him, let alone be _friends _with him.  
_

Unable to contain the conflict in my thoughts anymore, I curl up under the heavy blankets and let myself sink into sleep, knowing that maybe, just maybe, Marble Tomlinson could be almost okay.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all the support. I just want you to know, this story will NOT be completely canon to the books nor the movie. I am basing the Careers' stories and personalities from my imagination only. Yes, their ages and eye color and whatnot could be a little off from the movie, but this is NOT canon. Please note that I don't base anything off the movie. Also, the dialogue when the Games start will be altered slightly, as will the deaths of the Careers, and their relationships will change within the story.**

**Just clearing things up. Updates will be more often and regular, I promise! :D**


	8. The Warrior: The Jealousy of a Gladiator

**The Warrior: The Jealousy of a Gladiator**

**A/N: Well, hello there! This is Claudius Templesmith, your Hunger Games announcer. The spectacular SIlverAquaTrident does not feel like saying much today, as she has had a long and stressful day at school. So, I'll just make a few announcements.**

**First off, as always, thanks for the reviews. Both reviews and favourites are deeply appreciated. **

**Also, the astonishingly awesome SilverAquaTrident has narrowed down her next project to two choices: an SYOT with **_**very**_** unique arena, OR the story of Finnick Odair. Please vote in her poll now!**

**Happy Hunger Games, and enjoy the chapter, and thank you all for reading!**

"Oof! Ah! OW!"

"Sorry, sweetie pie, we just need to fix that underarm hair! And boy, it's a jungle under there!"

I scowl at the purple lady named Violet ripping off my armpit hair and making strange comments while she's at it. And by purple lady, I mean she's actually _purple_. Her skin, dress, hair, eyes, and nails are all various shades of sickening violet. The other two, Marigold and Aquila, are equally as strange.

Marigold is decked out in a dress made entirely of sunflowers – which is stupid, because they aren't marigolds, and Marigold is her name, not Sunflower – and Oceanie's wavy hair is died a superficial turquoise, and the rest of her outfit is skimpy and evidently supposed to represent a mermaid.

Even worse, all three of them are girls, and in order to complete my 'make-over', I have to be completely stripped. I swear I hear one of them giggle under her breath every now and then.

At first I snapped at them and told them to get off me or else, but then they started making my armpit waxing more painful, so I decided to shut up. Really, they might as well have waxing paper as weapons for the Hunger Games. I'm sure it would be good for mutilating, because Violet is pretty much mutilating my armpits right now.

Marigold is polishing my entire body – and I mean, _entire_ body – with some mysterious concoction, and Oceanie is massaging a slimy liquid through my hair.

For two hours now, all they've talked about is stupid things like how hot they think I am (they basically worship me) and how the color of Oceanie's mother's eyebrows is _so_ last year. In fact, they don't even talk – they squeak, like someone is stabbing a mouse with a fork over and over again.

We did that all the time back at the Academy when we were ten.

_At the Academy…_

Suddenly, a knot forms in my stomach. The memory of the Head Gamemaker proposing my death during that game of Truth or Dare fills up my head, making it light and dizzy, making my world seem to spin in circles. Seneca said that in order to get the bomb, I need to die. If the Capitol wants me dead, I'll have to be dead, and there's nothing I can do about it, no matter how skilled of a Career I am.

I think of all the ways Seneca Crane could kill me in the arena. I've seen a variety of ways the Gamemakers like to mess with the tributes over the years. Extreme temperatures, poisoned food, forest fires, massive wolf mutations – it could be anything.

But if they want me dead, they'll kill me right as I step off my metal plate.

No, they won't do that. Panem would get suspicious. I heard the commentators discussing my high odds when we watched our Reaping, no one would believe it for a second if I don't make it to at least the final five or six. The Gamemakers will kill me toward the end, if they do at all.

Being the Capitol, I know they'll do anything in order to get that bomb from me. Honestly, couldn't they have just asked me? Of course I would've said yes, I mean, you can't really say no to the almighty ruling city of the world.

But still, the thought of my Gamemaker-induced death makes my blood threaten to boil over. For eight whole years, I have trained my heart out, practiced for a minimum of eight hours a day during weekdays, and more often than not, I'd be down in the gym all night long. I've completely mastered the use of six weapons, I'm capable of using over twenty weapons total, and I've hardened myself to death by killing all sorts of animals. I gave up my soul for the Hunger Games, just to bring pride to my district, as if it doesn't have enough pride already. And now, all because of the freaking bomb, I have to throw all of that away and simply die.

I can't let that happen. I won't.

"Cutie-pie? Hello?"

All of a sudden, I realize that Marigold is frantically tapping on my shoulder, and I'm clenching my fists so hard that my fingers are numb. I release my fingers, and they cramp up, burning as I slowly stretch them out. "What?"

Bubbly grins are plastered on all three of the girls' faces. "It's time for you to meet Aphrodite!" Violet shrieks.

Before I have time to even infer who Aphrodite might be, a lady strolls casually into the room, holding a black bag on a hanger. Unlike the freaks of nature in my prep team, this girl is legitimately hot, possibly the hottest girl I've ever seen. Long, golden curls cascade down her back, and her skin is flawless. She looks to be about my age, maybe even a little younger. She grins flirtatiously at me, her teeth so white that it's blinding. She wears a flowing silver dress. "Hello, Cato," she chimes. Her voice isn't squeaky or annoying in the typical Capitol accent, but it's lower and kind of has a seductive air to it. Somehow, I'm not embarrassed about my lack of any clothing.

"Uh…hi." My voice comes out sounding stupid and dazed, like I'm high on Morphling.

The girl laughs. "Someone's a little dizzy. Too much wine at dinner, I presume?"

Before my cheeks have the opportunity to flush red, she laughs again. "Not to worry, we all get tipsy. My name is Aphrodite, and I'm your stylist."

My heart leaps up. If this girl is hot, she has to have a good sense of style.

"Yay," I say, still dumbfounded at her beauty.

"Well, I'm glad you're excited!" she replies. "Marigold, Violet, Oceanie, you're dismissed. Thanks for your time, you did good with the full body polish."

The trio bounces out of the room, giggling and gossiping. Finally, to the relief of my ears, the door slams behind them.

"So…" I say, this time attempting to start the conversation myself. "That went well. I'm excited for the chariot rides, you know, to get sponsors and everything." I grin with relief, as my usual tone has returned. Well, it's not my usual tone. It's the tone I always use with girls, the tone that makes them fawn over me.

Aphrodite smiles again. "That's great! Wait till you see what I made for you!"

My heart catches in my throat, partly out of anticipation, partly out of nervousness. I pray that my chariot costume will make me look how I want to; fierce, brave, vicious. Sometimes, though not often, the tributes from 2 get stuck with stupid costumes. One year, our tributes ended up dressed as rocks. Literally. They were just lumps of gray cloth. But that almost never happens. District 2 usually gets the best of the best stylists, mostly because we are one of the most loved districts.

"Close your eyes," Aphrodite orders. I obey her and feel something slide over my head, then I feel pants sliding onto my legs, then finally something placed on my head. "Now open them."

Aphrodite leads me to a full length mirror, and I nearly faint at my reflection. I look amazing. I'm decked out in a shiny golden metal tunic and tight black pants, both of which show off my muscular figure. My headpiece is a helmet with little wings sprouting at the edges. My hair is slicked back, and my skin is tan and gleaming, completely flawless. I'm a Roman gladiator.

"This…this…wow."

That's all I can say. I look perfect, better than I ever imagined. I look tough, fierce, stronger than your typical Career.

"You're amazing."

Aphrodite beams. "I knew you'd like it. From watching the Reapings, I could tell you're dangerous, and that your chariot outfit needs to emphasize that. And in case you're wondering why you're dressed as a gladiator, it's because this is the Hunger Games. I've always thought of the tributes as gladiators, and since I think you're the strongest – and hottest – , I made you a literal gladiator. Or you could also say you're a god, it could go either way."

I nod, my triumphant smile growing bigger and bigger. "I like both angles. I could be a…a gladiator god!"

Aphrodite shrugs. "Yeah, you could think of it like that. Now show me your best snarl!"

I snarl to my reflection, pretending that I'm about to behead a terrified tribute. Aphrodite shrieks and claps. "Perfect! Cato Black, by the time the Games start, sponsor parachutes will be soaring down to you like raindrops in a storm! Come on, let's go meet Clove and the others."

Putting on my best smirk for Clove, I pull on the gold metal boots next to me and follow Aphrodite out the door and to the elevator, where Clove, Gustavo, Enobaria, and Apollo stand.

I don't know what to say when I see Clove.

Yes, I still hate her just as much as ever, but I'll admit that she looks amazing. Clove's chocolate brown hair is intertwined with small strands of gold, and her outfit matches mine almost exactly, though her tunic is really fitted around her figure. She looks flawless, perfect, like a goddess. If she wasn't my arch nemesis, I'd make it a point to start flirting with her right away. Well, I don't flirt. I just grin seductively and let my looks do the talking. But you get the idea.

I notice Clove staring at me, too, seeming somewhat impressed, though she hides it well. That's when I realize my eyes are probably reflecting my astonishment. "What are you looking at?" I snap, trying to cover up any sign of amazement.

Clove snaps out of it and snorts. "Not much." She averts her eyes and presses the button on the elevator, while the mentors chat about how awesome we look when we step into the elevator.

"Ah, beautiful!" Gustavo chimes. "You two look _charmant_."

"This should get you a ton of sponsors," Enobaria comments, nodding with approval. "Not that you need any, but it never hurts to have some extra supplies."

"Besides," Apollo adds. "Even if you do bomb the chariot rides, it won't matter. I was dressed as a rock, making me have almost no sponsors, but look at me! I'm alive and the hottest Victor in Panem!"

Clove rolls her eyes. "No you're not, stupid. Finnick Odair is the hottest Victor in Panem. Gloss Kardashian is the second hottest."

Apollo scowls. "Did you really have to say that?"

"Definitely," Clove and I answer in unison. Clove raises an eyebrow. "Don't copy my words."

I scoff. "What do you mean, copy your words? We both said that at the same time!"

"Yes, but it's still your fault."

"How is it my fault?"

"Because you're stupid. The stupid ones are always the problem in life."

"Oh yeah? Well…you're a problem!"

"Wow, _great_ comeback, witless."

I'm about to make a retort and maybe a death threat when I notice Enobaria and Apollo laughing. "What?"

Enobaria sighs. "Oh, nothing. You two are just so much alike that it's scary."

"No we aren't!" I protest. To my horror, Clove says that exact thing at the same time I say it, causing Gustavo and Aphrodite to join in with the growing chorus of laughter.

"There's no use denying it," Aphrodite says. "You might as well be brother and sister!"

I roll my eyes. We've both gotten far too many comments like that over the years. Sure, we may both be insane, bloodthirsty, hotheads, and amazing Careers, but the resemblance between us stops there. Clove is very smart, and somewhat good looking, but she's a coward when it comes down to it. However, I'm brave, bold, and hot, and who cares about cleverness? Really, it's the brawniest ones who always win the Games.

"If we were brother and sister," Clove spits at me. "I'd be very mad at my mother for producing such an atrocity."

"Such as yourself?"

"Such as _you_. I would ask our parents to disown me just so I wouldn't have to put up with you."

Apollo waves us down, ending the brewing argument. "Hey, we're arrived at our destination, you know. In fact, we've been standing here since you two started arguing about copying each others' words. And also, everyone in the chariots is staring at you. Just saying."

My eyes widen with alarm as I turn around. Apollo is right. Most of the tributes have stopped to stare at us, some scared, some amused, some just blankly looking at us. That's when I realize the ferocity in which Clove and I were arguing. I ignore the stares, say bye to the others, and head to our chariot. The buzz of talking returns as we step onto our gold and black chariot.

"Way to go, Clover Rover," I say sarcastically. "You just embarrassed us in front of about fifteen other kids, including the other Careers."

"That was your fault," Clove snaps, though obviously she's focusing on something else. "Check out District One," she mutters, scrutinizing the tributes in the chariot in front of us.

They both are draped in these horrible pink feathery outfits, though the Capitol will probably love them. They kind of look like chickens on steroids. Really, I don't see how chickens on steroids have anything to do with their district's industry, but who knows? District 1 has always been pretty tacky when it comes to chariot costumes.

I recognize the pretty girl from the Reapings, Glimmer. She talks quietly to Marvel, who nods, an unreadable expression on his face. I make sure to take note of them. After all, they will be in the Career pack with me.

I suddenly hear a voice behind us snicker, "Really, Noah, I thought District Two could make out a little better this year. Why is it that Two always brings us the fat chums with the IQ level of their knives?"

"Shush, they're right there!" another voice hisses urgently.

Clove and I whirl around to face the sources of the voices. The tributes from District 3 stand in the chariot behind us, dressed in what I think is supposed to represent the inner workings of some electronic device. The girl wears a smug expression, while the boy looks terrified out of his wits, and rightfully so. No one messes with the Careers, and this little girl needs to learn that.

"What was that?" I growl at the girl. The girl's smirk grows bigger, and her eyes widen maliciously.

"I said, 'Really, Noah, I though District Two could make out a little better –"

"Mailey!" The boy standing next to her, apparently named Noah, elbows her stomach.

"I'm not scared," Mailey spits. "Is there anything to be scared _of_?"

I exchange a confused glance with Clove. Sure, District 3 often brings the lunatics to the Games, but they're never really that feisty, especially toward Careers.

"Yes, there _is _something to be scared of! For goodness sake, they're CAREERS!" Noah exclaims. Well, at least this boy has it right. He frantically turns to us, talking so quickly that I can barely make out his words. "Listen, I'm really sorry, Mailey didn't mean it, she just…uhm…er…uh…had too much wine! Yeah, that! You know what happens in the Capitol, you can't not get drunk –"

"I'm not drunk, midget," Mailey snaps. "I'm just speaking the truth. I mean, really, I don't see any Careers in front of us. All I see is a scrawny pug-faced dwarf and a dimwitted chump with absolutely no intelligence under his helmet."

_Okay, Cato,_ I remind myself. _Just close your eyes and count to ten, and take deep breaths…_

"Congratulations, District Three." Clove replies, somehow keeping her cool. "You just earned yourself a one-way ticket to death in the Bloodbath."

To our frustration, Mailey doesn't become the least bit frightened. In fact, she puts on a simpering smile. "Awwww, did little miss Bloodbath-tribute-from-District-3 hurt your feelings? You must be so_ sad_."

Noah groans and slaps his forehead. "Oh, Mailey, _why _did you have to say that?"

"Great question," I say, putting on the most menacing glare I can muster, pointed at Mailey. "I'd say it's because you're an idiot. You'll be dead two seconds into the Bloodbath, that's a guarantee. Oh, and as of right now, we don't have a very strong opinion of you either, shortstack."

Noah looks like he's about to faint. "What?! What did I do?"

Clove shrugs. "Nothing. We Careers just love to hate."

Before Noah can retort, the grand door opens and District 1's chariot begins to roll out. My eyes are met by the burning neon lights of the city and the deafening roar of joy from the pleased crowd. My heart starts pounding.

"You ready, dimwit?" Clove asks, an excited gleam in her icy blue eyes.

I smile mischievously. "Never been readier."

Our chariot starts to rumble into motion. Adrenaline begins to rush through my body. This is the moment, the moment where all of Panem will see Cato Black at his best. I close my eyes and picture every girl in the nation screaming my name, roses and money showering down on our chariot.

As I open them, my signature snarl begins to form while I get into character. I look over at Clove, and her smirk makes her look dark, deadly, insane – exactly the way she is.

The roar of the Capitol finally meets my ears when the chariot rumbles into the light. They scream mine and Clove's names, chanting "DISTRICT TWO!" over and over again. I see my face on a screen, and I look absolutely perfect. I look strong, unbeatable, invincible. I almost laugh at the thought of every other tribute fainting out of fear for the almighty reigning male tribute from District 2.

With every person in the nation admiring me, I've never felt any better. I know they fear me, adore me, even worship me. I can just hear thoughts of potential sponsors, and in three days the parachutes will be just raining down on the Career pack. With the combined reception of us, 1, and 4, everyone will know that the Career pack will dominate this year.

But suddenly, my shining moment pops like a soap bubble. I feel the attention turn from us to somewhere else, farther behind us. The crowd erupts in one simultaneous scream. I crane my neck to look at the screen, and stifle a gasp.

The tributes from District 12 are on fire.

Literally. This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Normally 12 is overlooked or laughed at during the chariot ride, but this time they join hands and wave to the crowd, and in turn, the crowd screams their names. Their capes glow with fire blowing from behind them, illuminating the crisp night air. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I ever expect to hear the Capitol cheering for District 12. I mean, _District 12_, of all places!

My astonishment shifts to rage. This isn't supposed to happen. The Capitol loves 2, not 12. The Careers are supposed to get all of the attention, that's just how it works. That's how it's always worked.

I want to maim both of them, right here, right now.

"Bloodbath, we'll make sure," Clove mutters to me.

I consider this for a moment, knowing exactly what she's saying. "Definitely. District Twelve will be dead before you can say 'Girl on Fire'."


	9. The Serpent: A Group Disaster

**The Serpent: A Group Disaster**

**A/N: Hell-O! (_Voice cracks rater noticeably_) Excuse me. Anyway, this is Claudius Temple- ACHOO! -smith. I would like to thank all those who have reviewed and favorited, and - AUGH!**

**(_Claudius starts coughing uncontrollably_)**

**Sorry - COUGH! - I - COUGH! - have a sore - COUGH! - throat. My apologies -**

**(_Claudius's voice is now almost completely gone. He just manages to get out the last few words:)_**

**Please we-COUGH! COUGH! COUGH! - lcome Miss Cl-COUGH! -ove Mckinnon! COUGH!**

* * *

"Hello!"

I bolt upright, stifling a cry of surprise. Something inside my head makes it want to fall back onto the cushiony pillow, but I force myself to keep it up. Rubbing my eyes, I crane my neck to see who intruded upon my peaceful slumber.

Just as I suspected from the odd accent, Maximus stands in the doorway, bouncing and grinning. I scowl. If there's anything I hate, it's being disturbed from sleep.

"What do you want," I mumble, my vision blurry and disoriented. Even when I'm tired, I can still produce a voice filled with malice.

Maximus chuckles, ignoring my groggy glare. "Well, I vant you to come to breakfast! Today eez ze first training day, you don't vant to meess it!"

I jump out of bed immediately, throwing the sheets aside. Training is today! Training has always been the most fascinating thing to me about the Hunger Games. I've always wanted to try out every weapon, climbing wall, and obstacle course ever set inside there. I never took the opportunity to think about it on the train, or even on the chariot rides.

Maximus bids me goodbye and leaves, shutting the door behind him. I'm glad to be out of his company; the only thing I'm wearing is a very tight tank top and short athletic shorts, which really don't cover up all that much.

Something catches my eye, hanging on the closet door. I study it closely. It's my training outfit – a tight-looking black top with two red stripes on each of the short sleeves, and a big number 2 printed in red on the front. Under it is some black sweatpants and black boots. From what I can tell, the outfit seems pretty good for training, light and sweat-absorbent.

I quickly throw on the clothes and pull the boots onto my feet, then tie up my hair in a messy bun. Slamming open the door, I slink to the table, laden heavily with bacon and pancakes, maple syrup and juice. An alluring scent floods through the air.

Apollo, Maximus, and Enobaria are all at the table, shoving the lavish food into their mouths hungrily. I take a seat between Enobaria and Maximus. "Hey, Clove," Enobaria says, slurping up some grapefruit juice.

"Hey," I reply. Without hesitation, I scoop some bacon onto my plate and gnaw on it, the savory grease filling up my mouth. Cato bursts in, obviously bustling with excitement. He plops down across from me, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth without one acknowledgement of us being here. I scowl at him, just because I hate him, to which he rolls his eyes. "Nice to see you, too," he mutters. With no warning whatsoever, I reach across the table and snatch away his piece of bacon like a serpent snapping up a mouse, and I eat the bacon myself, smirking. He sighs.

"Really, Clove? Was that really necessary?"

I nod vigorously. Anything to annoy Cato Black.

"So," Enobaria says. "We need to discuss your training strategy. Today, you will be meeting with the other Careers during training. At some point, it will be decided who will be the official leader of the Careers. Everyone from One, Two, and Four will be in the Career pack except for the District Four male, Triton. He declined the offer. So, you've each got three new people to meet and greet and impress."

"You need to make a good impression," Apollo adds, his mouth full of pancake.

I roll my eyes, sighing heavily. "What _amazing_ advice, I could have never thought of it myself," I respond sarcastically, taking another bite of what used to be Cato's bacon.

"Will you ever just shut up?!" Cato snaps.

"Hey, hey, hey," Apollo says. "There's no need to kill each other. Well, feel free to do so in the Hunger Games, but that's not the point. During training, you need to show the others everything you've got. Don't bother letting your skills go incognito. Scare the other tributes, make them cower in fear. Oh, and laugh at their mistakes."

I nod in agreement. That's exactly what I was planning to do.

We finish up our breakfast quickly, until finally Maximus dismisses us. I'm about to get up to go to the elevator when Enobaria stops me and Cato.

"Listen," she says. "Just…be nice to the other Careers, okay?"

Cato scoffs. "That's like saying 'Be nice to the Tracker Jackers!'."

"Whatever," Enobaria replies, sighing. "Have fun. Play nice. Scare everyone. Behead some dummies. All the mentors will be watching you guys through a one-way window. We'll be down there in about ten minutes."

Me and Cato walk to the elevator and ride down the floors in silence, random mutual loathing passing between us. When they finally open, I have to stop and gasp in astonishment.

The Training Room is amazing, and that's saying something, considering the fact that I'm a Career. There's so many stations that it's ridiculous. Swords, archery, climbing, survival – you can learn anything you could ever imagine here. It's like a Career's heaven.

Atala, the head trainer, is standing in front of a crowd of tributes, rambling on and on about stupid things like not murdering each other and stuff like that. We wait impatiently until Atala lets everyone go.

"Okay, first order of business is rounding up all of the Careers," I tell Cato matter-of-factly.

He shrugs while I scan the weapon-packed room for anyone with the numbers one or four on their shirts. "There," I say, pointing to a slim girl with auburn hair, examining a trident. She has a number four printed in turquoise on the back of her shirt.

Without hesitation, the two of us jog up to her. "Hello," Cato says casually, causing the girl to jump and whirl around instinctively, though her sea green eyes calm down as she sees that it's us. I make a mental note that she probably has good reflexes.

"Well, hey there," she says brightly, her district accent strong. "I'm Fiona, I'll be in the Career pack. I'm guessing you two will be, too?"

I nod suspiciously. Her tone is bright and friendly, but something about it seems a little off, almost as if she's faking it. I shrug it off. "Yeah. I'm Clove, that's Cato. We're rounding up all the Careers. Come help us, okay?"

"Okay!" Fiona replies. "I think I see District One over there."

We follow her gaze to where Marvel and Glimmer stand, gold number 1's printed on their shirts. Glimmer spots us and walks over to us, followed by Marvel.

"Hi!" Marvel says, outstretching his hand to me, a big grin plastered on his face. "I'm Marvel Tomlinson, and I'm super excited to be in the Career pack this year!"

I scowl, not bothering to shake his hand. We do _not_ need another friendly chum; Fiona's already crossing the line a little, by the looks of it. Seriously, we're the Careers! We don't act all bubbly and run around saying hi to everyone.

"And I'm Glimmer!" Glimmer exclaims, flipping one of her long blonde pigtails. "I'm a Career, and –" she stops short, her emerald eyes widening as she looks at me. "Oh my god, you are _ugly_!" Glimmer scolds, holding up a piece of my ponytail.

I exchange a revolted glance with Cato as I swat her hand away. Is she freaking serious? Now we've got a dumb blonde, two grinning chums, and a blundering idiot with absolutely nothing in his oversized head. I can already tell that this Career pack is going to be a complete disaster.

Fiona and Cato exchange a few words. While they're talking, I notice Marvel whispering something to Glimmer: "I thought you changed". For a split second, Glimmer's smile morphs into a dejected expression, a frown so heartbreaking that even I'm wondering what happened to her. But her face quickly reverts back to the flirty smile.

"Okay, well…let's just go to the sword station," Cato says, his disappointment with our Career pack evident.

"No," I snap. "We're going to knives first."

Cato narrows his eyes. "Who made you the boss?"

"Well, who made _you_ the boss?"

"Quit mimicking me!"

"Trust me, Cato dear, I would rather slit my throat than mimic _you_."

"I think you slitting your throat would make everyone happier."

"Oh, really?" I lean forward so that I'm almost nose to nose with Cato. "It would make me happier too, because then I wouldn't have to listen to your witless statements."

Before Cato manages to slap me, something pushes us apart. It's Marvel who stands between us, with a face so genuinely concerned that it's kind of annoying. "Hey, guys, how about we not fight? It would make this training session much more productive."

"Amen!" Fiona says. To my shock and disgust, she _high-fives_ Marvel.

I shoot an incredulous glance at them. Never, in all of my dreams, have I ever imagined the Careers being so…awful. I mean, what Careers tell other Careers to stop fighting, then start high-fiving everyone else?

"Let's just go," Cato grumbles. We head over to the sword station, defeat and anguish marking both of our faces.

* * *

"Hit! Thrust! Slice! Hit! Over the back!Great job, keep it up! C'mon, get the head, get the head. _P__erfect!"_

I gaze at the dismembered dummy, a triumphant smile on my face. I throw the ax one last time, and it lodges directly in between the dummy's eyes. The trainer gives a big whoop and performs and elaborate fist pump. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he commends. "District Two, you will dominate this year!"

My smug smirk grows even wider as I shoot a pointed look at Cato, reminding him that I'm far better with axes than he is, and that throwing knives is not my only talent. He rolls his eyes, not bothering to say anything.

Glimmer barely even notices my accomplishment with the axes – she's too busy twisting a strand of hair and rambling to Fiona about how she's a descendant of the owners of some stupid-sounding makeup company. Fiona smiles warmly at me, which makes almost no sense. She should be scared. That's the whole point of training – to scare the other tributes.

Speaking of scared, Marvel bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably - the obvious signs of Career-induced terror. I have mixed feelings about his reaction. Yes, I'm glad he fears me, but come on, we're _Careers._ When we feel scared, we don't show it. The typical Career would nod approvingly, embellishing his face with a cocky grin. But no, I'm snapped back to awful reality, where this year's Careers get scared, high-five people, and send warm smiles to one another. Really, what has this world come to?

"Um…Clove?" Marvel asks timidly, as if he's a five-year old about to ask his mom for a puppy. I narrow my eyes, holding in a deep sigh. How pathetic.

"What?"

He folds his hands and purses his lips, making his juvenile demeanor even more prominent. "Can I have a turn? With a spear?"

I let out that deep sigh. "Knock yourself out," I say, gesturing to the rack of spears. "Literally," I mumble under my breath.

* * *

Okay, I'll admit it: Marvel has mastered spears. I mean, the way he hits the bulls-eye straight in the center makes it seem like the long pointed piece of metal is an extension of his arm. Who knew that a grinning chum like him could actually have a real smidge of talent?

When Marvel finishes, I nod and smirk the way I described before. As he switches weapons with Glimmer, I take the opportunity to glance around the training room, just to see if the other tributes are any good.

I immediately regret it.

Rage bubbles up inside of me, threatening to spill over like a boiling tea kettle. "Cato," I mutter, pointing at the source of my sudden rage. "Look."

He stops short and turns around, facing the general direction of my gesture. I can feel his rage starting up too, in one big surge of energy.

The source of our mutual anger talks quietly with the blonde boy next to her, obviously trying to keep unnoticed, which isn't working out too well for her. The girls from 6 and 9 are pointing at her, whispering something like 'That's her, the one who was on fire.'

"Katniss Everdeen," I growl through gritted teeth. Just the sight of her makes my blood start to boil. She's the one who stole the sponsors away from us, the one who distracted the Capitol from the Careers. District 12 is not supposed to get the attention. The Hunger Games revolve around the Careers, that's how it's always been, that's how it should have been this year. But no, Katniss Everdeen and her stupid district partner Pita or something just had to ruin it. I don't know why, but I hate Katniss much more than I hate Pita. Maybe it's because she's obviously been trained, or maybe just because everyone's talking about the 'girl on fire' instead of us. That means less sponsors for the Careers, and more for District 12.

A voice suddenly comes on through a speaker. "Attention tributes, please report to the dining room adjacent to you for lunch at this time. Thank you."

Lunch time already? Well, we did stop at climbing and hand-to-hand combat before this, but still...wow. All of the tributes dash through the doorway, eager to get their helping of food. Really, these kids need to learn how to be hungry, they have to get used to it in order to survive the Hunger Games. It's a good thing we did 36-hour fasting at the academy, just in case we don't luck out at the Cornucopia.

"Agh!" Cato lets out a cry as he stumbles over Marvel's foot.

The bad news: he caught himself with his hands just as his body hit the ground, unfortunately not crushing his bones. The good news: Cato's hand just happens to land on a stray spearhead. He winces and clutches his hand, impaled with the spearhead, spewing crimson blood. He moans softly.

I laugh so hard that it comes out like a cackle. Mailey, that annoying girl from 3, walks by and laughs even harder, stumbling and gasping for breath as she pushes through the door to the dining hall.

Cato digs out the spearhead, grunting and flinching in pain as he flings it onto the ground, which is stained with the blood from his hand. "Smooth, Prince Charming," I spit out, having been laughing all this time. Cato gets up, still clutching his hand, and glares at Marvel. "What was_ that_?!" he barks accusingly at him. "You made me look like an idiot!"

I snort. "Relax, Cato, he only made you look like your true self."

"Shut up!" Cato growls. He turns to Marvel, whose eyes are widened so large that they look like they could pop out.

"Listen, I'm really sorry, Cato. I didn't mean to trip you. I'm sorry, I really I am. I'll go get you a bandage if you want -"

"'Sorry' doesn't cut it!" Cato barks.

I smirk and watch with interest. This really is good entertainment, an idiot versus a double idiot.

Marvel's eyes narrow, and I can tell that anger seethes under his skin. "What are you, six years old? This is the kind of thing toddlers argue about. Really, it's no big deal, we'll receive much bigger injuries in the Games. It's kind of like...like practice for future injuries. I guess we can consider it physical liabilities -"

Cato slams Marvel against the wall, holding him by his collar, his towering build looming over the frightened male from District 1. "I'll show _you_ physical liabilities!"

I grab Cato's fist as he rears it back, about to turn poor Marvel's face inside out. "Cut it out, Cato," I order. "This isn't worth getting in a fight over."

Now let me just make something completely clear - I am not standing up for Marvel, nor will I ever stand up for him if it comes down to it. I couldn't care less if Cato maimed him right here and right now; in fact, it would be quite entertaining. But if Cato picks a fight, we could all get kicked out of training, which would be extremely counterproductive. I just don't want Cato to do anything stupid, he's already got enough of a reputation for his stupidity...

"Shut up!" he snaps at me. I snarl. I don't take orders from someone who has the IQ level of his sword.

"No, _you_ shut up! You're the one who's about to get us kicked out!"

Cato lets go of Marvel, who rebounds against the wall. "So you really want to go there, don't you, McKinnon?" He leans into my face threateningly, inches away from my nose. I stare right back into his face without blinking an eye.

"Yeah. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? If you kill me on the spot, then I won't have to look at your ugly face anymore."

Cato scowls. "Then let's fight, if you think you're so amazing. Then we'll so who's going to run sobbing to Enobaria and Apollo. Fistfight or weapons?"

I stop to ponder this, choosing my decision carefully. If it's a fistfight, Cato would definitely win, solely because of his excessive muscle that makes up for his lack of brainpower. But if we fight with knives, however...

"Fine, it's a deal. With weapons. First one who draws blood wins."

Part of me says that this fight is absolutely pointless. I mean, even if one of us does draws blood, we're just going to keep fighting. But I'm still so mad at Cato; I don't know why I'm so angry right now, but I just am, because of his stupidity and his witlessness and his overall foolishness. I want to show him not to test Clove McKinnon, or he'll end up with a knife lodged in his nonexistent brain.

Okay, maybe that's not the whole reason why I'm doing this. It's because I need to show the Careers who's boss. I need to prove to them not to mess with me, and I'll use Cato as an example of what happens when you do.

I bend down and pick up a couple of knives, while Cato starts brandishing a sword. Adrenaline courses through my veins. A good fight is always a good opportunity to earn gain more skills and take down a person you hate. I step forward and rear my arm back, ready to toss a knife at Cato, when I am blocked.

"Whoa whoa, whoa!" To my annoyance, Marvel pushes between us, talking firmly. "There is no reason to fight. Just because you are both bloodthirsty and reckless doesn't mean that you have to pick a fight the first chance you get."

"Reckless?" Cato scoffs. "I think you're the reckless one in this situation." He grabs Marvel by the collar again, and this time Marvel struggles, but Cato's brute force outmatches his. "Listen up, street rat. If you want to be in the Career pack, you need to do a lot of learning. And the first thing you need to learn is that when two Careers are about to fight, you don't try to get between them, no matter what the circumstances are. You're not our dad; you can't tell us what to do."

Marvel gulps and flinches, expecting a punch, but it never comes. Cato just stares even harder into his terrified amber eyes.

"The second thing is, don't grin. By being all nice and acting like an idiot, you disgrace the name of the Careers."

He turns to Glimmer and Fiona, while still holding onto Marvel. "That goes for you too, Districts One and Four. The Careers are supposed to be fierce, dangerous, relentless. And so far, you aren't doing a very good job of portraying those traits."

I step up next to Cato, because this seems to be a good teaching opportunity. "I never thought I'd ever say this, but Cato is right. You three need to toughen up, and you only have three days to do it, so you need to start toughening up _now_."

Fiona puts on a very believable nervous expression, but something in her eyes, a telltale gleam, tells me that there's a different emotion hidden under that exterior. It's the expression that means you're up to something. I've worn it too many times in my life, and I've seen it far too much on Jerome's face to not recognize it.

I'm too busy scrutinizing Fiona's eyes to duck when Glimmer slaps me.

"_Me_, needing to toughen up?" she demands, leaning in close to my face just as Cato did a few minutes before. Her giggly, flirty tone is completely gone, and is now replaced by a low, menacing voice, like an angry cat. "You have absolutely no right to say that, District Two. I have been training for as long as you have, maybe even more. I can handle so many weapons that you can barely count them, and I'm the number one Career in my district. So I don't think you have the right to boss me around. Have I made myself clear?"

I can tell she wants me to flinch, or avert my eyes, or even apologize, but I simply snort. "Really, you'd think that to be the best Career in the district, you'd have to have at least one brain cell to spare."

Cato huffs exasperatedly. "Clove, just leave it. We don't want another fight."

I whirl around to face him, scowling. "Oh, and _now_ you tell me that. You have the nerve to try to stop a fight when you just picked about three fights yourself?"

Cato's about to retort, when Marvel cuts him off. "You know what?" he snaps. He, too, has lost his regular voice. He now talks sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Let's face it. We all hate each other. If we hate each other, this alliance means absolutely nothing. When I get into the arena, I don't want to have to be on my guard every second to make sure my allies slit my throat. I want allies that will look out for me, not kill me the first chance they get. So, I'm out."

And with that, Marvel turns around and walks toward the door.

"Me, too," Glimmer blurts out, directing her eyes toward me and Cato. "If you can't learn to not boss us around and pretend you're our teacher or something, I'm out of here." She's about to turn around when suddenly she looks back to me. "By the way, Clove, I hate your hair, your eyes, your voice, and everything else about you. And your face could really use some foundation, maybe a light copper color. Some mascara couldn't hurt either, and neither could a _brain._"

She storms away, following Marvel.

Fiona shrugs, the bottom corner of her lip curling down. "Well, I guess it's just the three of us. That doesn't exactly qualify as a Career pack, even five people wasn't really enough. And if we don't have enough people, we won't get enough sponsors. Our Cornucopia stuff won't last forever, you know. Besides, I don't really want to take orders, either. So, I guess I'm out too. It was nice...arguing with you."

She turns around and follows Glimmer and Marvel. A sinking feeling suddenly comes into me. A bad Career pack is better than no Career pack. What will the sponsors think? What if Districts 1 and 4 target us? This is the worst thing that could possibly happen, that the Career pack splitting up. I feel like sitting in a corner and burying my face in my hands. Without the Career pack, me and Cato are nothing. Careers rely on one another - yes, I can survive without the others, but it won't have the same effect on people. Power comes in numbers, that's one of the main philosophies of Careers. And if we don't have numbers, we don't have power. And if we don't have power, none of us can win. I sigh, staring at the floor dejectedly.

Suddenly, someone clears their throat loudly. We all turn around, including the others, who were about to head out the door. Enobaria stands before us, glaring fiercely, like she's about to rip our throats out with her teeth. I almost groan. I forgot that the mentors and the Gamemakers were watching us this entire time...

"Everyone, over here. _Now_."

Something about her authoritative tone makes us all scramble to get to where she is standing. After making sure that we're all listening, Enobaria begins to speak in a stern voice.

"Listen up, you five. The mentors from your districts are extremely disappointed in you all. You are the _Careers_. Like it or not, you _will_ be in an alliance together. You have no choice. If you refuse, not only do you disgrace yourselves, but you disgrace your districts and all of the Careers. You'll make future Careers think that they can just wander off on their own in the Hunger Games. So, no matter what, you will be in this alliance. I know you all would love to murder each other now, but you need to suck it up and try to have at least one decent conversation without starting a fight." She shoots a pointed look at Cato and I. "Have I made myself understood?"

We all nod vigorously. Her penetrating stare shows that she is not joking around, and that she is not to be disobeyed.

"Good," she says, still furious but evidently satisfied. "Now go back to your floors, you are dismissed from training - Wait!"

She stops us as we're about to leave.

"You all need to learn a one big lesson, no matter how pretty, nice, friendly, smart, or tough you are: you have to quit hating each other and work together. If you don't, you're dead. Literally."

Enobaria pauses for a moment. "We all meet tonight, 8:00, on District Two's floor. No exceptions."


	10. The Protector: Conspiracy

**The Protector: Conspiracy**

**A/N: Happy Hunger Games, Ladies and Gentlemen!**

**(_thunderous applause_)**

**As you can tell, I am Caesar Flickerman, not the unawesome Claudius Templesmith. Man, he is just stupid! I may or may not have poisoned his drink...**

**(_Screams of triumph echo around the Capitol. This applause lasts for ten minutes, because everyone is glad to be rid of the stupid Claudius Templesmith_.)**

**I mean seriously, nobody likes him!**

**(_Cries of 'AMEN!' are heard from the crowd_)**

**He's so stupid!**

**(_Everyone cheers at Caesar Flickerman's extremely witty insult_)**

**Happy Hunger Games, everyone! Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Enobaria looks us each in the eye as we're gathered around the table for the Career meeting, scrutinizing us almost as if we're thieves getting inspected for weapons. I suppose she is checking us for weapons – I wouldn't be surprised if Clove or Cato brought along a knife or two.

A lavish spread of food lies before us, but I'm in no mood to eat it. My stomach is still in knots because of Glimmer.

I thought maybe there was a spark of hope last night when I talked to her, that maybe something inside of her was opening up. I thought maybe she wasn't the snob she pretends to be. But I was wrong; at training, she acted exactly like her usual self.

Something didn't seem right, though – when I told Glimmer how I thought she had changed, the conflicted look on her face almost made me want to cry. It was almost as if she was forcing herself to act that way, as if something was restraining her from being who she is. But when she noticed Clove looking discreetly at us, her face went right back to the phony smile.

Ever since last night, I've felt a determination to help Glimmer. I've always thought the poor people like the Sham were the most broken, but it seems that Glimmer is even more broken, even though she is the richest girl in the district. It seems that she's at war with herself. She hides it well, but I've been catching glimpses beyond her shallow exterior. Maybe someone's been teaching her for her entire life to act that way, maybe she's even trained herself to _think_ that way.

No matter what is making her so broken, I've made a new resolution: I'm going to try to help her, and try to get her to open up a little bit. She'll never be happy if she keeps having an eternal battle with herself. I know I'll only have about three days to do it, and at least one of us will be dead very soon, but it's still worth it. She doesn't deserve to suffer like this.

I'm snapped out of my reverie as Enobaria starts to talk.

"Welcome, Careers, to your first official meeting. Based on the events last night, we have decided that you all need to learn to not hate each other as much."

The other mentors nod and murmur in assent.

By the way, did I mention that all six mentors from 1, 2, and 4, plus us five tributes, are crammed into chairs around this table? Yes, the table is pretty big, but it's obviously not built for eleven people. I'm squeezed so tightly in between Glimmer and Fiona that it's almost like we're sitting on each other. The mentors are all seated across from us on the other side of the table, probably so they can watch us to make sure we don't kill each other.

"So…the whole point of this meeting is to get us to like each other?" Clove clarifies suspiciously.

Dionysus shrugs, gulping down some whiskey. "Well, for lack of a better way to say it, yeah. Sure, at least four of you will be dead pretty soon, but it won't hurt to like each other a little, at least while your hearts are still beating."

I raise my eyebrows. "Wow. That lightened my spirits," I mutter.

"So," a gleaming Finnick Odair says. "I think that in order to not start this meeting with a Bloodbath, the tributes should go around and say something good about each of the people next to them. Cato, why don't you start, since you're on the end?"

Cato scowls and turns to Clove, who somehow ended up next to him. I stifle a snort. I'll be surprised if Cato comes up with anything good about Clove. As far as I can tell, I think they have a long history, a _bad _history at that. "Um…I guess you're good at knives…and being evil…and hurting others…and being prissy…"

Cashmere sighs and looks at Finnick. "I told you this would happen. Cato, you have to tell her a good thing about her, not twist it into an insult."

"What is this, a therapy session?" Cato protests.

"Pretty much," Apollo says. "Now say something nice about Clove, or I'll slit your throat."

Cato huffs. "Fine. Clove, you're good at knives."

Clove produces a scowl that outmatches his. "Whatever."

"You have to try a little harder than that," Mags garbles, her words almost unintelligible between her district accent and old age. "If you want to survive the Career alliance for three weeks, you need to learn to survive each others' presence for three minutes. It's your turn, Clove."

"Ugh, why did I sit next to him?" she mutters. "Okay, well…Cato, I guess some completely deranged people might say…though only if they were extremely drunk on Capitol liquor…that maybe the shape of your nose isn't…_awful._ Even if everything else about you _is_ awful."

"Um…thanks?" Cato responds, raising an eyebrow.

Apollo glances at Enobaria. "I guess it's a start."

"Really, what is the point of this?" Clove demands. "This won't get us anywhere. We're just being forced to say untrue things about each other."

Enobaria lets out an indignant _humph_. "Fine then," she says tauntingly. "I guess I'll just take all your sponsor money and just throw it off the balcony onto the street–"

"NO!" Cato and Clove protest in unison.

Enobaria smiles with satisfaction. "That's what I thought. Now Clove, say something nice about Glimmer."

Clove scoffs. "But there's nothing nice to say about her! I mean, look at her! She's stupid, shallow, snooty, weak, dimwitted, an airhead, clumsy –"

"Stop!" I cut in before I can control myself. Everyone stares at me. Clove cocks her head confusedly. "Just stop, okay?" I continue. "Was that really necessary, Clove? Do you have to be a jerk to everyone?"

Fiona puts her hand on my shoulder in an effort to calm me. "Marvel, it's okay. She's probably just in a bad mood." Her voice drops to a whisper as Clove and Glimmer start to argue. "Besides, I doubt Glimmer will care, anyway. She's a bit…high self-esteemed. You know what I mean?"

I nod, pretending to agree with her, though I most certainly do not. Glimmer will take Clove's insults personally, she's the kind of person who thrives off of approval from others. Last night, it took one explosion from me to break her. This time, however, Glimmer hides whatever hurt she has deep down inside, plastering on a smirk instead.

"Like I care what you say, District Two," she spits at Clove, continuing whatever argument they were having while I was talking with Fiona. "I think you're just jealous."

"Oh, really?" Clove snaps. "Is there anything about you to be jealous _of_?"

"Hey, hey," Finnick interrupts. "Like I said, we don't need a Bloodbath right now. Clove, please just think of something."

Clove's scowl grows deeper. "Fine. You're kind of pretty. Just a bit. There, I said it. Go, Glimmer."

Glimmer smiles smugly. "Clove, to be honest, your eyelashes only need ninety-nine bottles of mascara, not a hundred. And Marvel…you're…"

She pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say. I pray she won't shoot a half-insult toward me like she just did to Clove.

"You're really friendly."

I smile at Glimmer with gratitude. I guess that's as good of a compliment as I'm going to get from her. At least she didn't insult me about being a street rat.

I'm pretty glad that it's my turn; I'm determined to bring out the good in both Glimmer and Fiona. I take care not to compliment Glimmer on her appearance. She needs to know that she's more than that. "Glimmer, I think you truly have a good character, and you're a great friend."

I swear that I see Glimmer blush under her many layers of foundation.

Clove and Cato both spit out their soup back into their bowls. "What the heck was that about?" Cato inquires, looking at me like I suddenly grew an extra butt.

"I was being nice!" I protest, not sure why they're so disgusted. "The mentors said to say nice things about each other, and I was being truthful!"

Clove rolls her eyes. "You're hopeless."

I ignore her comment and focus on Glimmer's reaction. A faint trace of a smile crosses her ruby red lips. I feel like getting up and doing a fist pump. I finally made Glimmer realize that I don't like her because of her looks! Sure, it's not that major, but it's a good start.

"And Fiona, you're very sweet and you always lend a helping hand," I say.

Fiona beams, while Clove and Cato make fake gagging noises. "Thanks, Marvel! I think you're humble and generous, and you always bring out the good side in people."

"Somebody go get me a paper bag," Clove snorts.

Enobaria glares at her. "Shut up, Clove. Marvel and Fiona did what they were told. See? It's working!" she notes as I smile at Fiona. "Now we can move on to the next order of business."

Clove suddenly starts clapping. "Bravo, bravo, it's finally over!" Cato realizes her intent and starts clapping too.

"Shut up!" Dionysus barks, refilling his glass of whiskey. "You two are acting like twelve-year-olds. Now, I'm about to say something very important. But I want you all to promise that you will not start freaking out when I say this."

Fiona and I nod, though I notice none of the other tributes do.

"Okay," Cashmere says tentatively. "Right now, we are going to, in a very orderly fashion, nominate the leader of the Careers."

Immediately, the room erupts in a cacophony of arguing, mostly involving Glimmer, Cato, and Clove. They spit insults, protest, throw each other under the bus. Finally, Apollo has to yell "SHUT UP!" This finally quiet down, bouncing with anticipation.

Really, I don't think Cato and Clove have the best interest of the pack in mind. They just want power, the right to order everyone around. Something tells me that neither of them would be very fair leaders, though my opinion of Cato is slightly stronger than mine of Clove. Clove actually takes joy in hurting others, and that's sick, very sick. I don't want that kind of person to lead the Career pack this year. She would probably stab us all just for the 'fun' of it.

"Now, the way we will do this is by nominations," Finnick says. "So -"

"I NOMINATE MYSELF!" Cato, Clove, and Glimmer shout in unison.

Finnick sighs. "I knew this would happen. Fiona and Marvel, who do you nominate?"

"Fiona," I say immediately. Anything but Cato and Clove, and I don't know if Glimmer can handle leadership when she's so broken. Also, it's rude to nominate yourself. I think Fiona would make an excellent leader.

"I nominate Marvel," she says. I beam at her. That felt pretty nice.

Finnick clucks his tongue. "Yep. Okay. We're gonna have to go with Plan B."

Enobaria nods. "Because each person has one nomination, we will decide the leader based on who earns the highest training score."

Cato and Clove stare at each other. "You're going down," they say together. The mentors shoot each other amused glances. Cato and Clove have so much in common that it's kind of creepy.

"Alright, now for the last thing," Apollo says. "We need to discuss what you will all do during Training Day Two. What happened earlier today can't happen again, or else you'll make fools of yourselves. If you get into another fight, Gamemakers will spread word of it around the Capitol, which would decrease your sponsor rates significantly. Plus, we'll probably pound you to death. Career Victors tend to have anger management issues, you know."

I snicker. That much I've already found out.

"You need to stick together during training," Mags adds. "Remember, power comes in numbers."

"And try to stop at every station," Dionysus slurs. "I know you think you're too good for the survival stations, but you need to learn as much as possible."

Cashmere shakes her head, furrowing her brows in disagreement. "They don't need to. They learned everything at their district Career Academies, all they need to do is frighten the other tributes."

Dionysus shrugs, obviously not caring that much. "Whatever floats your boat. Just stick together, act like buddies, laugh at other tributes, and shout and whoop and act like you own the place. During lunch, be friends. Joke around about killing, discuss weapons, flex your muscles. That's all for tonight. Stay up as late as you want, I couldn't care less. Even if I did care, you wouldn't listen to me."

No one's really listening to Dionysus's words; they're too busy trying to escape each other's company. To be honest, I think we've had enough of each other for one day.

I step into the elevator alone while Glimmer lingers behind to curse at Clove.

"Wait!" Fiona runs into the elevator, though she doesn't press the number 4 button. "Can I come to your floor for a minute? I need to talk to you. In private."

I smile politely. "Yeah, sure." I have no clue what she will do or say, but hey, I think I can trust Fiona not to stab me or something when we're alone.

When we arrive at my floor, I lead her into my room. She shuts the door behind us, which makes me a little uneasy, but I simply sit on my bed, and Fiona plops down next to me.

"Listen, Marvel, I need to ask you something," she says, serious and firm.

I shrug. "Talk to me."

Fiona exhales deeply. "Okay, well, it's about Clove. You don't like her very much, do you?"

"No, not really. I think she's kind of a jerk."

Fiona smiles, not bothering to hide her relief. She stands up and starts pacing, her hands interlocked behind her back. "Same here. So, the mentors said that we'll choose the leader based on who has the highest training score. Seeing how talented Clove is at distance weapons, she's likely to get the highest training score out of all of us, making her the leader of the Careers."

I shudder. That would be my worst nightmare. If Clove _actually_ becomes the leader of the Careers, we'll all be dead within the first day of the Games.

"I wouldn't like that," I say.

Fiona nods. "Neither would I. Clove is an awful person. She manipulates others, hurts people for her enjoyment, and she's downright twisted. Now, we wouldn't want a leader like that, would we?"

"Of course not," I agree. "But if Clove gets the highest training score, there's nothing we can do about it."

Fiona stops pacing and holds up her pointer finger. "Ah. That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, in order to prevent Clove from becoming the leader of the Careers, we need to make sure that her training score is not...up to Career standards."

I furrow my brow, tilting my head suspiciously. "What are you saying?"

A smirk begins to form on her lips. "I have a plan, Marvel. You aren't going to like it, but it's the only way we can stop Clove from becoming the leader of the Careers."

My suspicion starts to grow. Then again, this is Fiona. She probably won't try to do anything too bad to Clove. At least, I don't think...

"On the day of the private training sessions, we need to make sure Clove isn't feeling well enough to perform her best. So we slip a bit of extra alcohol into her drink that morning. Well, actually, a _lot_ of extra alcohol. This should make her dizzy and kind of disoriented, causing her knife aim to be off. If this succeeds, Clove will not get the best training score, thereby preventing her from being the leader of the Careers."

I stop to consider her plan for a moment. It's devious, yes, and it's also cheating, but it's the only way to fix our dilemma. Fiona must be pretty smart to have thought of that. However, a flaw in the plan jumps out at me:

"But if Clove doesn't get the best training score, Cato will."

Fiona's face takes on a pleading expression. "Yes, but Cato leading us would be better than Clove, right? Besides, if we pollute Cato's drink too, everyone will get suspicious."

She has a good point there. Cato's not much better than Clove, but he's more courageous. If it comes down to it, he'll stay with the Careers no matter what, and he won't leave us. Clove doesn't have that kind of loyalty.

For one more moment, I ponder the justness of Fiona's plan. Then I finally come to a decision.

I stretch out my hand, which she clasps and shakes.

"Deal."

* * *

**A/N: Hey everyone! The steady stream of reviews really boosts my spirits, so thank you! I would also like to thank all those who gave me constructive criticism. It really helps my writing skills and the quality of this story. I often go back and change some things in previous chapters based on constructive criticism I've received, so please note that I take your criticism seriously. :D**

**Just curious, so far are you on Team Marvel, Team Glimmer, Team Cato, Team Clove, or Team Fiona? Tell me in your reviews! And remember, throughout the story, your loyalties will probably change.**

**BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG NEWS: My next project has been officially decided. After I finish this, I will write the story of Finnick Odair! District 4 is my HG district, so I've always been extremely fascinated with it. I have some huge tricks up my sleeve for the Finnick story. I will probably start it sometime in October, maybe November. Thanks for voting in my poll! **

**Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor! **


	11. The Queen: Facades

**The Queen: Facades **

**A/N: Welcome, welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen! This is still Caesar Flickerman, the all-time best Hunger Games commentator ever! Do you agree with this statement?**

**(**_**The Capitol screams so loud that the ground shakes**_**)**

**Heh heh. I know, right? Anyway, I have a lot of very important announcements. First off, I want to make something completely clear: This fanfic **_**will**_** have an alternate ending in which a Career will win the 74th Hunger Games. This story will go WAY off canon pretty soon, and the events of the 74****th**** Hunger Games will be changed drastically. **

**There is also something else you need to know. For those of you who have followed through with the brilliant SilverAquaTrident's other story, **_**Me, a Quarter Quell, and My Stupid Life**_** , you may remember the Review Challenge. Well, guess what? The Review Challenge is BACK!**

**(**_**All of Panem howls, united in one big scream of glee. Caesar Flickerman begins sobbing tears of pure joy**_**)**

***sniff sniff* Oh, I know, I just want to shriek with joy! In fact, I think I will! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**

**(_ten minutes later_)**

**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEK!**

**Anyway, here is what the Review Challenge is: Whatever Fanfiction user posts the 100****th**** Review on this story gets to name a certain unnamed VERY important character in this story. I will PM only the winner who this character will be. This character will play a very essential role in QPWS, maybe during the Games, maybe after the Games. I can't tell you! :D And in case you're wondering, the spectacular SilverAquaTrident does not intend to beg for reviews, as this story has quite a lot of them already, but she instates this contest to thank all of those who have read, reviewed, and/or favorited this story.**

**Also, the almighty SilverAquaTrident recommends that you check out the Starvation forum. She discovered Starvation in late July, and she is completely obsessed with it. It's one of the most popular Hunger Games Fanfiction forums. After reading this chapter, LOOK IT UP! PLEEEAAASSSEEEE!**

**Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!**

* * *

_They float before me, expressions changing, faces changing. My mother, my father, Gloss, my 'friends' from District 1, Marvel, Cashmere, Apollo, Cato, Clove, Fiona. They hiss taunts at me, saying the same phrase over and over: "You're not good enough." Some scowl, some smirk, some shriek with mocking laughter. I try to scream, to hit them, to run away and hide in a corner, but I'm frozen into place. They take relish in making me hurt, cackling or hitting me or spitting at me._

_Marvel runs up to me, sobbing. "I thought you could change, that you could be my friend," he weeps through his tears. "But then I realized that you're not good enough." I try to run after him, to ask him what the problem is, but he vanishes into thin air._

_Suddenly, taking Marvel's place is Gloss, frowning, deep disappointment etched into his face. That's when I realize I'm wearing a silk wedding dress, with a veil on my head. Gloss wears a tuxedo, his hair slicked sideways, but his bright blue eyes pierce me as sharp as daggers. He holds two opened little boxes, each with a diamond ring inside._

"_I guess you won't be needing this anymore," he says over the loud chorus of chanting and laughing, gesturing to one of the rings. "I was going to give this to you, but then I realized that you're not good enough." _

_He tosses the ring aside, where it shatters on the ground, fragments of diamond flying everywhere. Gloss steps back, and the chanting suddenly grows louder…_

"_You're not good enough! You're not good enough! You're not good enough!"_

_I scream the most heartbreaking scream I've ever heard, so loud that it vaporizes everyone else, gone with a poof. I'm able to move now, and I sink down onto the ground. No one likes me or adores me or worships me anymore; I'm not the brilliant Glimmer Maybelline I once was. The pain comes crashing down on me. I sob, and sob, and sob, and sob…_

"Glimmer? _Glimmer_? Glimmer, are you okay?! Wake up, please, wake up! I could hear you sobbing all the way from my room!"

I bolt upright, panting and heaving. My bed sheets are wet with sweat, and my tight tank top is drenched. Marvel stands before me, eyebrows lifted with concern. He doesn't sob or taunt me like he just did a minute ago; he's just regular Marvel, sincere and sweet. I try to tell him that I'm okay, or to shut up, or that I'm glad he's there, but it comes out as a sob.

Then it starts again; tears are streaming down my face, like drops of rain crawling down a window, leaving traces of water in their path. I will my eyes to suck them back up; no one can see me cry, no one ever has. Crying is a sign of weakness. I'm a Career, I have to be strong. And Careers don't cry.

Yet the tears keep coming, washing down my face. "Oh, Glimmer, I'm so sorry," Marvel whispers. He sits down on the bed and wraps his arm around my shoulder, stroking my hair soothingly with another strong arm. His muscles aren't showy and bulky like Cato's, but firm and steady, like a brick wall with a heart of gold.

The voice comes back to me again, that voice that always taunts me and tells me that I'm worthless. _What have you turned into, associating with street rats?!_ it exclaims. _The dream people were right; you really _are_ not good enough._

This only makes me cry harder. I bury my face in my hands; it's probably red and blotchy, the way it usually gets when I cry. Marvel whispers soothing things to me. "It's okay, Glimmer. It'll be alright. You're safe right here, it was just a dream."

_Safe? You're going into the Hunger Games! the voice screams with rage. This boy is worth nothing, not a single coin. Slap him, make him go away. _

_Shut up, _I grumble at it inside my head as I continue crying.

The voice laughs evilly, relishing in my distress. _You can't get rid of me. I'm part of you; you can never destroy a part of yourself. _

It pauses for a moment, letting the words sink in.

_I'll leave you alone for now, but know one thing: I will return._

I open my eyes and shudder. I remind myself that it's just a voice, that it won't hurt me. Somehow, I feel safer, here next to Marvel.

"Sorry," I mutter to him. I shouldn't have burst out sobbing like that. How awkward would it have been if I was the one trying to comfort him? Comforting has never been my strong point; I've never understood how people do it.

A knock suddenly sounds on the door. "Time for training!" the ear-piercing voice of Natalie Fritter chirps. "Put your training clothes on and come on out!"

Marvel and I stare at each other awkwardly for a moment. Marvel pats my back gently. "Like I said before, if you ever want to talk to me about anything, feel free to come get me any time," he says softly. He quietly gets up off the bed and walks toward the door.

"Marvel!" I blurt out. Marvel turns around, cocking his head. I realize that's the first time he's heard me call him Marvel, instead of Marble. Deep down inside, I've always known that Marble is not his name.

"Yeah?" he replies.

"Just...thanks." That's all I can manage to get out. This is the first time someone's ever really done me a real favor, let alone _comfort_ me.

Marvel grins. "No problem."

And with that, he saunters out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Maybe I was wrong a few days ago when I yelled at him for making the Careers look like fools by being nice. Yes, his sweetness kind of makes us look weaker, but if it wasn't for his comfort, where would I be? Probably a mess, lying there and still shedding tears about the dream.

_You're stupid, you know_, the voice snickers.

_Go away,_ I snap at it.

And for the very first time, it follows my command.

* * *

"You excited for training?" Marvel asks brightly as the elevator doors slide open, revealing the weapon-filled Training Floor. To my relief, he's acting like the whole crying ordeal never happened - probably for sake of my dignity.

A trace of a smile crosses my lips. "I guess. You?"

Marvel shrugs. "More or less."

As we walk slowly out of the elevator, I scan the room for District 2 and Fiona. District 2 is probably here already; they're so ridiculously devoted to training that they probably showed up at four in the morning.

Sure enough, Cato and Clove stand by the hand-to-hand combat station, watching Fiona as she pummels the trainer to the ground with a silvery trident. Cato whoops and hollers, attracting some stares, but Clove just stands there, smirking.

That's basically all she does. Standing there and smirking, and scowling when Cato's around. That girl can really creep me out sometimes; I swear that she _caresses_ her knives. Besides, she's like eighteen, it's about time that she starts wearing makeup or at least _trying_ to manage her hair.

_Time to put on my facade_, I think to myself. I plaster a flirty grin onto my face and play around with my two braids. Marvel shoots me a questioning look, noticing the sudden change in my expression. "It's my angle," I explain. He nods, though he still looks concerned. Really, he should be used to me acting either dumb and flirty or smooth and seductive. Those are the only ways I've ever acted before, really.

Just as the other Careers turn to face us, a yell sounds from behind us.

"Annabelle! Triton! I'm slipping! Can you catch - AAH!"

We whirl around just in time to see the boy from District 10 plummet to the ground twenty feet off the climbing bars. When he hits the ground, two people rush over - his district partner and that Triton guy, the District 4 tribute who didn't join the Careers. The brown-haired girl, Annabelle the boy called her, tries to lift him up, but he cries out and collapses to the ground. Cato and Clove burst out laughing, cackling and hooting and yelling taunts. "Nice job, District Ten!" Clove shrieks sarcastically. "You should join the Careers!" Annabelle glares fiercely at her as Triton calls for the medics, who rush to the spot.

Marvel starts toward the threesome, but Cato shoves him back. "He'll deal with it," he mutters. "Toughen him up for the Games." Reluctantly, Marvel steps back, staring at the floor, obviously aching to go help the boy.

Suddenly, I realize that I need to keep up my facade. I laugh loudly and mockingly along with Cato and Clove, who are both having the time of their life humiliating the District 10 guy. Marvel, however, looks downright dumbstruck at my sudden change in behavior. I give him a reassuring look once again. He smiles weakly and averts his eyes.

The whole idea of laughing at the crippled is starting to get old. I mean, District 2 has been cackling for like five minutes straight. It wasn't really _that_ funny, I mean, that boy took a nasty fall.

Finally, Annabelle and Triton and the girl from 5 help the medics carry him out. Annabelle looks over her shoulder at Cato and Clove, and her eyes communicate exactly what she's trying to say:

_You are sick_.

I take another look at the cackling pair, and Cato is now fake-squealing and collapsing to imitate the boy.

_Right you are, Annabelle,_ I think to myself. _Right you are_.

My laugh is growing weaker; you can only hold up a fake laugh for so long before it seems forced. Marvel stands there, pursing his lips, awkwardly glancing between me and Cato and Clove, and Fiona, who isn't laughing, just smirking and stroking her trident lovingly as if it's a cuddly dog.

Finally, Marvel speaks up. "Okay, yeah, that was hilarious. Now can we do something productive?"

The laughter dies down, though it still lingers in sudden bursts. "We can't," Clove states. "Not with idiots like Cato around."

Cato huffs with annoyance. "Why are you such a brat to me?"

Clove snickers. "I'm not a brat to you. I simply point out your flaws in a blunt, helpful matter."

Cato scowls, rolling his eyes yet again. "Okay, great. Now say that in Panemic; no one understands your overly complicated vocabulary."

Clove scoffs. "Only _you_ would think that the words 'flaws' and 'blunt' are overly complicated. But that makes sense, seeing as you have the intelligence of a boulder."

"Hey!" Marvel cuts in. Cato and Clove stop short, glaring at Marvel. "Listen, our mentors specifically said that we need to act like friends during training. And you two really aren't doing that great of a job, so why don't we -"

"Why don't we what?" Clove interrupts sharply. "Flush ourselves down the toilets? That'd be so much more fun than what we're doing now."

Marvel slaps his forehead. "Careers," he mutters.

"Well, well, well," Cato says, a mischievous ring to his voice. "Look what we have here."

We turn around and find a girl standing before us with a cocky smirk on her face, one that matches Cato's signature facial expression almost exactly. Her light brown hair is tied back in a long, high ponytail, and a yellow number 3 is printed on her tight shirt.

Clove snickers. "Oh, it's the little brat from the chariot rides."

I exchange a questioning look with Marvel. Who's this girl, and why did she just disrupt a group of Careers? She must be pretty feisty. And stupid.

The girl winks mockingly. "Yep, it's me. And my name is Mailey, not 'little brat'." Her dark green eyes begin to gleam with malice. "You know, rumour has it that you're pretty flustered after District Twelve stole all the attention - ahem, and sponsors - from the Careers. What a shame. You must be so _sad_."

Clove and Cato's eyes widen with rage so that they look like bulls about to charge. Mailey just giggles. I can now almost see the steam emitting from their heads.

"Get out of here, District Three," Cato growls. "Why are you here, anyway?"

Mailey makes a small indignant noise. "Well, I was _going_ to ask you to move over. You're blocking the hand-to-hand combat station, and it's my turn, anyway."

Fiona raises an eyebrow. "Well, that's too bad for you. The Careers are using this station, so you have no right to be here right now."

Mailey laughs quickly, in a taunting, menacing way that makes my skin crawl. "No, you're not! You're just fighting like little kids. And yes, I have _every_ right to be here. Yesterday, Atala specifically stated that any tribute may use any single-manned station when no one else is using it. You five aren't using it; therefore, it's my turn."

All of us except Marvel exchange a glance, silently communicating one thing: This brat needs to go. Now.

"Listen up, District Three," I spit. "I am going to close my eyes and count to five. When I reach five, you will be gone. If you aren't gone, you will be dead the second you step off your plate when the Games start." I lift my palms to my eyelids. "One, two, three, four, five."

I remove my palms and feel like stomping and screaming with frustration. Mailey is still there, cocky expression completely unchanged.

"There's something that you don't understand," she says, a threatening touch to her voice. "Year after year, the Careers have always been the strongest in the competition, just because they're the Capitol's lapdogs. But this year is different - just look at how strong everyone else is. Finch and Noah are ten times smarter than any of you. Annabelle was a cowgirl, so she's a master with whips and lassos. Thresh has even more brawn than _you_, District Two." She shoots a pointed look at Cato, whose glare deepens. "Triton has trained with scythes, even though he isn't in the pack this year - smart decision. And of course, there's District Twelve. They haven't shown much skill yet, but it's obvious that they're keeping a low profile. They both seem pretty strong, and also, they took all the sponsors from you."

"SHUT UP!" Cato roars. Clove nudges him in the stomach - other tributes are beginning to stare.

Mailey laughs even harder than she did last time. "Whatever you say, brainless. Just remember, when you're in the arena - well, let's just say that you have no idea what you're up against."

She marches off, head held high. Rage begins to flood through my veins. How could she insult the Careers like that! Everyone knows that the Careers are dangerous, invincible, and definitely not to be messed with. The Careers are pretty much in charge of the Games. Everything is supposed to revolve around us! That's how it's always been, for 73 years!

_Calm down, Glimmer,_ I tell myself. _She's just a little tech nerd from 3. She's trying to seem cocky. She'll be dead in the Bloodbath, so why believe anything she says_? _Besides, how would she know every single tribute's name, and what they're good at? It's only been two days!_

This logic calms me down. Mailey really is trying to make us scared. Well, that's obviously not going to work - she looks to be only twelve, maybe thirteen. She can't even make a dent in us; our hearts are made of steel.

_Marvel's heart isn't made of steel_.

Oh great, and now I'm thinking about the whole Marvel issue, the issue I've been trying so hard to avoid. Okay, yeah, I kind of want to be his friend, but it might cause me to break my facade. No one will believe it if I'm nice one minute and mean the next minute. But he's helped me so much...

_Why are you thinking about Marvel right now? How did you even get onto that subject, anyway? You need to focus on the little brat issue, not the street rat issue._

A sickening feeling comes into my stomach. That was the voice, the voice that said it would return. I try to make it go away, but it remains firmly planted in my head, perched on my shoulder.

I'm snapped out of my reverie when Marvel speaks up.

"We need to have an emergency meeting. _Now._"

* * *

**FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER**

**10:19 AM**

Clove rolls her eyes, sighing dramatically. "Okay, yahoo, we're all here. Now what do you want?"

Marvel decided that we all needed to meet secretly, in the hallways outside the Training Room. I had just shrugged; after all, what harm could it do? Fiona was also willing to come. But it took quite a bit of convincing for Cato and Clove. Finally they came, "Just so you'd quit nagging us", as Clove put it.

So here we are, leaning against the walls, sitting on the cold tiled floors, hoping that Marvel had something important to say after all that work of getting District 2 to come with us. Really, they aren't even worth it.

Marvel clears his throat. "Oh. Right. So here's what I wanted to discuss. We need to come up with personalities for ourselves."

"What?" We say in unison.

"Fake personalities," he clarifies. "Like...like facades."

My heart drops into my stomach. Facades...that's the word I've been thinking to myself all day so far. Facades, facades, facades... Was that a coincidence, that he just happened to say it when the word's been ringing in my head constantly?

"Why?" Cato asks. "How could that possibly help our alliance?"

Marvel pauses, trying to find the right answer. "Okay, well...let's face it - most of us will hate each other no matter what the mentors say or do. Our personalities just don't work well together. So we need an easier way to pretend to be friends, which will make the alliance look stronger. I think that if we all put on fake personalities that make us seem more accustomed to each other, we can earn more sponsors because we'll seem like...like partners in crime. And as far as I know, the Capitol likes that concept a lot, which will earn back a lot of sponsors that we lost because of the chariot parade."

There's a long pause as everyone considers this.

"So, you're saying that we should act more alike to make us seem more like friends, which will make the Capitol like us better, which will get us sponsors?" I ask.

Marvel shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much. What do you guys think of that?"

"Love it," Fiona says right away.

"I like it," I say.

"I guess it could work," Cato responds slowly, still pondering Marvel's idea.

"That is the most stupid, reckless, dimwitted, lazy, unoriginal idea I have ever heard!"

We all glare at Clove, the source of that last pleasant comment. Honestly, why does she have to disagree with _everything_? "It's four to one," I tell her. "Your vote's outnumbered."

Clove sighs. "Okay, I guess your plan is not..._awful_."

Marvel grimaces. "Thanks, Clove. So I was thinking that for our facades, we should each play a part that we can pull off easily. I doubt the Capitol will like the fact that I'm nice, so I guess I'll be..."

"Witty!" I say suddenly. The rest of the Careers shoot me a unified blank stare. "He could be witty," I continue. "During the interviews, he could make a bunch of bad puns and a few jokes and seem all jolly and pleasant. When Caesar asks him about how he thinks he'll do in the Games, he can get really cocky about it. He can just keep up that persona through the Games, too."

Another long pause.

"Okay, I'll do that," Marvel says, though I notice him gulp. Marvel can probably pull off the witty-cocky facade, but I can tell he won't like it. He's witty, but he won't like being cocky. That's against his morals, I think. I hate to do that to him..."Glimmer, what about you?"

I'm the one who gulps this time. Marvel knows that my entire being is pretty much a facade. I can probably just put on one of my usual fake personalities. But I need to be either flirty and cute or dangerous and seductive...

"Dangerous and seductive," I say immediately. I can do both angles, but the Capitol likes sexy people better.

The other Careers murmur in assent. Everyone knows that I can pull off that angle. You don't have to know me well to know that. Marvel purses his lips, then nods. I can tell he doesn't like it when I'm being my seductive persona.

"I'll be fierce," Cato says. "During training and the Games and the interviews, I'll seem like I think I can boss everyone around. I'll also seem all tough and muscular, like...like Superman!" Cato flexes his muscles elaborately.

Everyone laughs, because of the dumb tone in which he just said that. Cato shrugs. "Hey, I _am_ like Superman."

"He's more like Superwoman, and he's not even that super, so he's just a woman," Clove mutters. "For my facade...you know what? I'm just gonna be my usual self. I'm Career-ish enough already."

Marvel shrugs. "That could not be more true. Fiona?"

"Flirty and bubbly," Fiona answers. "Yeah, it's not really me, but that's what facades are for, right? I'll be all flirty at one point, and then I'll turn all fierce when the Games start."

Everyone nods. I don't know that much about Fiona, but I do know that she can probably present that angle perfectly. It's just so...fitting.

"Great!" Marvel exclaims. "Just wait and see; those parachutes will be flooding the Career alliance in no time!"

I nod, because those parachutes had _better_ come flooding in. Because to be honest, even though I've had plenty of practice, I really don't enjoy putting on facades.

* * *

**17:32 PM, after training is finished**

As I stroll down the empty hallways to the elevator, I wipe the back of my hand on my forehead, trying to catch my breath. I beat my record time on the obstacle course just before they announced that training was over. And trust me, that obstacle course is no playground. I had to stay a few minutes late just to stretch the cramps out of my muscles.

We tried out our new facades for the remainder of training and during lunchtime, and it worked really well. We hooted and hollered and laughed, pretending that we tolerated one another. Just as planned, the other tributes seemed more scared of us than they did before. No wonder they're scared. There's an old Career motto that says something like "Power comes in numbers". And apparently, that's working out really well for us.

"Hey! Wait up!" a heavily accented voice calls. I turn around and spot Fiona jogging up to me. Her footsteps echo through the halls. I stop walking and let her catch up.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asks. Something about her face tells me that what she's about to tell me isn't good news.

"Um...yeah, sure. What is it?"

Fiona looks side to side, to make sure the hallway is empty. Then she turns back toward me. Her face looks sincere and concerned, with her eyebrows raised slightly. "Okay, well...what do you think of Marvel?"

Oh no. Does she think there's anything romantic between us? This can't end well...

"He's pretty nice," I say vaguely. "Why?"

Fiona purses her lips. "Well...see, Marvel and Cato and Clove have kind of been...planning something. Together."

I cock my head. Planning what? What does she mean? "Um...okay. And?"

Fiona sighs, and she now seems genuinely sorry for me. "You see, those three don't exactly like you all that much. And..." She takes a deep breath, as if she's about to deliver some shocking news. "They're plotting to kick you out of the alliance."

I feel like someone just slammed my stomach with a brick. "Wha-wha-what?" I stutter.

Fiona looks like she's about to cry. "I am _so_ sorry, Glimmer. I overheard them talking after the Career Meeting. They're going to tell the mentors that you're planning to try to kill the other Careers, take all of the supplies, and run away during the Bloodbath. They think this will make the mentors allow them to kick you out of the Careers."

The shock of this hits me out of nowhere, so hard that the wind seems to be nearly knocked out of me. The Careers don't like me, and they're trying to sabotage me? How could that possibly be true? They didn't seem to have anything against me. Cato and Clove were twisted, but they didn't appear to have a problem with me, and neither did Marvel...

MARVEL.

My face turns red hot with rage. After all the niceness, after seeming so sweet and humble, after comforting me and trying to fix me, he turns his back on me?!

Sweat begins to break out on my face. He betrayed me, the jerk betrayed me. I showed him part of my real self, and now he _betrayed_ me...

"I want him dead," I say quietly, my hands shaking with adrenaline. "I want to kill him _now_."

Fiona tries to give me a sympathetic hug, but before she can touch me, I'm sprinting down the hallways, dashing toward the elevator. I will make Marvel pay, pay for humiliating me, pay for betraying me. I will make him suffer, make him feel pain, like he's just done to me.

And I won't need a facade to do it.

* * *

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm sorry that I kind of vanished off the face of the earth. I went with my family to another part of the country for a funeral, and I couldn't access a computer there; we were too busy anyway, and it was a really quick trip.**

**So, what do you guys think about what just happened between Glimmer and Fiona? Do you think Marvel and Cato and Clove are actually plotting something against Glimmer? Or do you think Fiona is lying? Tell me in your reviews!**

**As always, thanks for all the support and reviews. I love, adore, endorse, support, and enjoy reviews! **

**May the odds be ever in your favor!**

* * *

**IN MEMORY OF MY GREAT GRANDMA, NANA**


	12. The Warrior: Cato Fails at Counseling

**The Warrior: Cato Fails at Counseling**

**A/N: Welcome, welcome! Welcome to the next chapter of the story of the Careers! I am about to tell you all a considerably important announcement. The almighty SilverAquaTrident has posted a poll on her profile, concerning what Career you think will win the 74th Hunger Games, and what Career you are rooting for. She would very much appreciate it if you would take a look at it. ****  
**

**Do you want more reviews for your stories? Start playing Review Tag in the Starvation forum! That's how the all-powerful SilverAquaTrident got a lot of her reviews.**

**Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Mister Cato Black, on the night of Training Day 2! The Private Training Sessions will take place the next chapter.**

* * *

**20:47 PM**

I trace my hand over the plush quilt repetitively, savoring its softness. They never had plush quilts at the Career Academy; we slept on hard cots with thin, papery sheets. Sure, we can afford weapons and things other districts can't, but they definitely never pampered us with soft beds like this one. Will being pampered help us in the arena? No. That's something District 1 has yet to learn.

Even though I haven't gotten used to this ridiculously soft mattress yet, I'm still extremely glad to be stretching out on it. Training was exhausting. I mean, the problems with the other Careers have gotten a little better with the whole fake personality thing Marvel made up, but they still annoy me to death, and we have a lot of issues with each other.

First, there's Glimmer, who's a prime example of one of those pampered brats I just described. You can tell just by looking at her that she has no guts, intelligence, or backbone. Okay, fine, she _is_ really hot, but just being hot isn't going to cut it in the arena. That's yet another lesson District 1 has yet to learn.

Then there's Clove, who just has to contradict or question every single thing I say. If she becomes the leader of the Careers, I'm going to slice my own head off as soon as the Bloodbath begins. Good thing that's not going to happen, though. I'm getting a higher training score, I'm sure of it.

And to top it off, there's Marvel, the weakest, flimsiest, most pathetic Career I have ever seen in my entire life. Careers aren't supposed to be nice, and they most certainly are not supposed to high-five each other, which, by the way, Marvel tried to do at least five times yesterday. That's like against the laws of humanity. Just wait till the Games start, he'll start sobbing as soon as we make the first kill. I don't entirely get his relationship with Glimmer, either. Are they dating? Are they friends? Are they mortal enemies? District 1 is strange.

Fiona's not that bad, I guess, but something about her kind of unsettles me. Maybe it's that ever-present devious smirk that marks her face, or maybe it's the smooth and serpent-like way that she talks.

Hating people really wears you out sometimes.

To make my exhaustion even worse, I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. I was too busy thinking about the whole deal with the bomb, about my imminent death in the arena. I keep telling myself not to worry about it, because I can fend off whatever the Gamemakers throw at me. But I've been having these awful dreams, dreams of fireballs shooting at me, dreams of being electrified by lightning, dreams of being torn apart by mutations. They'll do anything to kill me in order to get the rights to take the bomb before District 13 can.

Who do I want to take the bomb? I've never really thought about that question until now. District 13 would obviously use the bomb to overthrow the Capitol. If they're trying to get it, there must be a rebellion going on.

_Rebellion_. The word sends shivers down my spine. I've always loved just the pure concept of it, but I've barely even considered a rebellion against the Capitol. It's always seemed so hopeless. The Capitol has guns, bombs, nukes, Peacekeepers, advanced technology - pretty much every type of warfare you could ever imagine. And what do the districts have? Virtually nothing, compared to the Capitol.

Actually, that might not be entirely true. Everyone knows that 13's real industry was nuclear weapons, even though the Capitol claims they were graphite miners. 13 might be cranking out those nukes right at this second. If 13 is making plans to steal something really important, they must be doing pretty well. The question is, why is the Capitol leaving them alone? Being the Capitol, they would've blown them to bits at the first opportunity. Then again, that would result in a nuclear war. And something tells me that the Capitol doesn't really want that to happen.

Another question starts to boggle my mind: do I want 13 to take the bomb and destroy the Capitol? You know, that'd actually be pretty nice. The Capitol is bossy and oppressive. They do nothing but dye their skin, watch the Hunger Games, and eat and eat and eat and eat. Deep down inside, I know that the Hunger Games are unjust, even though District 2 treats it like some great  
thing. If you step back and take a look at the whole idea in general, you realize that kids killing other kids for the Capitol's enjoyment is just wrong. A world without the Games would actually be a lot better. But we still act like it's fun, and we even try to convince ourselves that it's fun. If we act like we love the Games, the Capitol will love us. If the Capitol loves us, they treat us better. Maybe that's kind of unfair to the starving places like District 12, where virtually no one wins the Games, but hey, that's life. If we get the opportunity to train for the Games, we take it. I'm sure 12 would, too. I bet they're pretty jealous of us...

See what I mean? The Capitol is probably placing jealousy and hatred between the districts on purpose so that they don't collaborate to form a rebellion.

Someone suddenly thumps on the door. "Hey, witless!" calls a voice that I know all too well. "We're having a strategy meeting, so get your lazy butt out here or else I'll slice it off as soon as we get into the arena!"

I sigh. Really, why is she such a brat? I stretch out and walk over to the door, running my fingers through my messed-up hair. I head out the door briskly, but I accidentally body-slam Clove, who was standing right in front of the door. I sway just a little, but Clove's shorter frame is knocked to the ground, and she receives what I can tell is a pretty nasty blow to the shoulder. She grunts as she slowly lifts herself up, then emits a quick "Eek!" when she flexes her shoulder bone. I snicker at her little shriek. It made her sound so weak, like a little girl.

"Ugh, Cato, really?" Clove scolds, rubbing her shoulder gingerly. "Sometimes I wonder if all that muscle you have is just excessive fat. I mean, I basically bounced off you!"

I raise my eyebrows. "Hey, you're the one who immediately fell to the ground and busted her shoulder and squealed just from a little blow. What are you, ninety pounds?"

Clove smirks. "What are you, ninety _thousand_ pounds? Of fat?"

She quickly punches my stomach to see if it really is all fat. To my satisfaction, it's completely hard, so she draws back her hand and winces. "Maybe it's frozen fat," Clove mutters. I smile discreetly. Clove might drive me crazy, but I've always liked how she never loses her argument.

"Ha ha," I say sarcastically, because I don't really know what else to say.

Clove snickers. "Ha-ha yourself."

We keep walking toward the dining room and arrive at the table. It's the same deal as last time - all the mentors and all the Career tributes. "Took you long enough," Finnick comments, grinning that creepy seductive smile that he always has on no matter what. I roll my eyes and sit down with Clove next to Glimmer. Finnick has always seemed annoying to me. Really, the only reason he won is because of all the flaky female sponsors that sent him stuff in the arena.

Before I can reflect any more on my mild hatred of Finnick Odair, Enobaria gets right down to business. "Welcome, everyone, to your second strategy meeti-"

"Yeah, yeah, just get to the point," Dionysus slurs, popping open a bottle of red wine. I find it kind of ironic that Dionysus was supposedly the Greek god of wine, and this Dionysus is a drunkard.

Enobaria shoots an indignant glare at Dionysus. "Shut up, you pot-bellied drunk!" she snaps. "As I was saying, today we'll discuss how training is going and also some arena strategies. To start, the tributes will take turns telling how they think training is working out. From what we can tell, it's going a lot better than it did yesterday. Fiona, you can start."

Fiona smiles, in that creepy way that makes it look like she's about to shove a grenade in your pants. "I think training went great today. We made a plan to have fake personalities to make us seem to get along better. We think this will help us seem stronger and get more sponsors."

"YES!" Apollo jumps up and does a fist pump, resulting in some awkward stares. He blushes. "What, I'm just excited that you're all wising up a little."

Mags produces a toothy grin - well, as toothy of a grin you can manage with only ten teeth. "Me, too," she garbles. "You are finally starting to have a chance."

Cashmere also grins. "I'm so glad! What about you, Marvel?"

I look over at Marvel, and am shocked at what I see. He has two black eyes, a few bandages on his arms, and nasty red marks on his face, probably from angry hands. He looks completely traumatized, almost like he's just been attacked. His usual beam is gone without a trace, replaced by red-rimmed eyes and a sorrowful frown. I know the signs - someone really angry just beat him up. The question is, who did?

"It was good," he stutters, in a quiet mousy voice. The mentors exchanged worried glances.

"Um...okay," Enobaria says uneasily. "Glimmer?"

Glimmer looks almost completely opposite of Marvel. Her arms are crossed so tight that they seem like tightly woven yarn, and the glare she shoots at everything around her rivals even Clove's best arsenal of glares. She looks furious, bloodthirsty, insane even. The puzzle pieces start to add up, and I realize that it was probably Glimmer who attacked Marvel. But...why?

"Yeah. _Great_," Glimmer spits sarcastically. The mentors exchange another glance.

"Is...something wrong?" Apollo asks.

"Whatever!" Glimmer snaps.

Enobaria sighs deeply. "Okay. Well, let's move on to Cato."

I shrug. "I actually think it went pretty well. We were a lot more productive than we were last time. I think that if we keep this up, the Career pack might actually have a chance this year."

Enobaria nods. "Well, great! I'm glad to hear that. Clove, how do you think it went?"

"Fine," Clove says absentmindedly, obviously not paying that much attention.

"Can you give us an answer more than one word long?"

"_Very_ fine," Clove replies, still off in her own world. "That was two words."

Apollo rolls his eyes. "More detailed than that. Like, at least ten words."

"It was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, fine," Clove replies smugly, counting the words on her fingers. "Yep, that's ten."

Apollo starts to scold her back-sassing, but Enobaria holds up her hand. "Just...just...it's fine. So now that we're actually kind of capable of working together, we're going to start planning arena strategies. I'm going to give you all a little pop quiz. After the Bloodbath, do you stay at the Cornucopia or run to the woods?"

"Cornucopia," we answer in unison. Glimmer and Marvel stay silent.

Enobaria gives us an approving nod. "Very good. Now, when it gets down to the final five or six tributes, what do you do?"

"Split up and leave each other alone till the final three," I say.

"Good. What do you do every other night?"

"Hunt for tributes," Clove responds immediately. "Can you give us questions that aren't at a twelve-year-old's level?"

Apollo smirks, causing him to resemble Jerome quite a bit. "Fine, Clove. Name the final six tributes in the Seventy-Third Hunger Games in order, with their home districts, how they died, and their battle tactics."

I'm about to protest that that question has absolutely nothing to do with arena strategies, but Clove interrupts. "In sixth place was Minerva Bishop, District Six. She primarily used a sickle, though toward the beginning of the Games she used only a spear, which she recovered from the Cornucopia. She fell off a cliff and died from air resistance before she hit the ground. Rye Goldsmith, the girl from District Nine, came in fifth place. Her main weapon was a double bladed ax, and she was killed in hand-to-hand combat by you, Apollo. Ellie Versona from District Five made it to the final four, and her main tactic was throwing knives and generally keeping a low profile. This guy named Yarrow Braxton killed her. Then Yarrow Braxton from Four -"

"Okay, okay!" Apollo cuts in, laughing. "I never thought you'd actually know the answer, I was trying to humble you. How do you know all of that?"

Clove smirks proudly. "I pay attention every year to the tactics of each tribute, in order to gain some strategies for the Games."

Before Enobaria can applaud her, I make a retort. "No you don't! That crazy old Panemic History professor makes us memorize the final six tributes' tactics and deaths every year, then she quizzes us on them!"

Clove rolls her eyes. "I never said it wasn't an assignment."

"Hey, we _really_ need to make a plan now," Enobaria says exasperatedly, kneading her temples.

"What is there to plan?" I ask. "We can just do the usual. Kill people during the Bloodbath, get all the supplies, go hunt for tributes, and don't kill each other till the final five or so. I mean, we still don't like each other that much, but at least we can trust each other to stick together during the Bloodbath and share the supplies and -"

Without warning, Marvel jumps up so quickly that his chair slides into the wall. His face is screwed up like he might start crying, and he storms out of the room without a word, leaving us to stare blankly at him as he presses the up button on the elevator. Glimmer, fuming more than ever, gets up and stomps into her room, slamming the door behind her.

"Did I...say something?" I ask to no one in particular when the elevator doors slide closed in front of Marvel. All I was talking about was classic Career strategies. Yeah, okay, maybe he disagreed, but he didn't have to freak out. Then again, something seemed wrong with both him and Glimmer. I remember the conclusion I made that they were fighting.

"Maybe you should go after him," Mags suggests.

"Yeah," Finnick agrees. "Give him some man-to-man advice on whatever's going on with him."

Oh god. "Man-to-man advice" is not my thing. At the Academy, people deal with their problems by themselves. The word 'advice' is pretty much foreign to us. Besides, I don't even know what's wrong with Marvel. The best advice I can give him is to suck it up and deal with it, because he'll probably be dead in a few days.

"Um...I'm good," I tell the mentors, shifting uncomfortably.

Cashmere puts on a pleading expression. "Come on, Cato. Sometimes you have to get over yourself and try to help people. That's something I learned when Gloss won after me. And if you don't go talk to him, we'll send Clove to do it."

"I'll do it," I reply immediately. Maybe my advice is pretty mediocre, but having Clove talk to him would not help his physical, mental, or emotional health. I don't like Marvel, but I wouldn't put him through the torture of talking to Clove about his problems. Better to get pointless advice from me than pointless insults from Clove. I get up from my chair, abandoning my half-finished steak, and walk toward the elevator, bracing myself for a long and boring counseling session.

"He pressed the button to go up," Enobaria calls. "Check the roof, first. Where else would he go?"

The roof? I didn't know you could actually go onto the roof. They never showed anything about that on TV. I step into the elevator, and sure enough, there's a button with the number 13 that I didn't notice before. I press it and listen to the automated female voice. "Leaving Floor Two, incorporating District Two tributes, mentors, escort, and preparation team."

I feel the elevator shoot up, and watch the small chandelier attached to the ceiling cast sparkling light around me from the crystals. Really, why put a chandelier in an elevator? I mean, it's just an elevator, it's not like it's an atrium or a concert hall or anything special. I sigh to myself. I'll never understand the Capitol's crazy interior design mentality.

"Arriving at Floor Thirteen: Rooftop Garden and Terrace."

Oh, so it's a garden _and_ a terrace. What a lot of interesting secrets I've been learning about the Training Center today.

The doors slide open, and my eyes are met with splashes of color. Neatly trimmed bushes of flowers ring the stone walkways, and a six-foot artificial waterfall thing spills water into a continuing stream that loops around the garden. There must be a force field surrounding the roof, because the blaring sounds of the busy Capitol are muffled entirely. The moonlight casts a ghostly glow on everything around me, and little fireflies flicker like tiny lanterns. The night air is cool and crisp, with a slight breeze. But something's wrong - you can't see the stars, not a single one. The neon lights cloud the air with an artificial-looking glow, blocking every single one of the stars. That's a shame; stars have always been my favorite part of the night. Without stars, the night sky is like an empty canvas, like a painting that an artist forgot to finish.

I spot a dark figure seated on the ground with its legs crossed, leaning its head on its hands. I step into the moonlight, and sure enough, there's Marvel. But he isn't crying. He just stares at the water silently, eyes glazed over, almost as if he's at a funeral. He doesn't even acknowledge my presence as I plop down next to him.

_Well, here goes,_ I think to myself. _Try not to fall asleep._

"Uh...hi," I begin awkwardly. "Are you okay?"

I almost slap myself. That's one of the stupidest questions to ask a person when he has one of the most somber expressions you've ever seen on his face.

Marvel exhales deeply, then pauses for a moment, plucking at one of his bandages. "Not really," he mumbles.

"Well...that sucks." I can already tell that counseling will never be my future profession.

"I don't get it," he says quietly. He turns to face me, and I watch his expression morph from solemn to a strange mixture of anger and sadness. "Fiona told me that Glimmer doesn't want me in the pack," he says, his voice growing louder. "She said that Glimmer wanted me to get out of the Career pack, and she thinks I'm weak and I won't help the Careers."

Well, at least Glimmer's got that right.

Marvel suddenly jumps up, causing me to flinch, and begins pacing back and forth. "That makes no sense!" he cries, continuing on. "Glimmer and I didn't like each other at first, but for the past few days she's been really opening up to me! She's so much more than just a pretty face, and I've been trying to help her realize that! And she's been being nice to me!" He picks up a stray pebble and chucks it off the roof.

"We were _friends!_ I thought we were actually growing to like each other! So when Fiona told me that Glimmer hated me, I went to Glimmer and asked her why she said that. And then she blew up at me, called me a deceiving hypocrite, and beat me up! I tried to fend her off, but you can't really hit a girl, so I just let her swing away at me. But WHY?!"

He picks up a bigger rock and heaves it over the roof with excessive force. It bounces back up to the roof, clattering next to Marvel's feet. I guess there really is a force field there.

"You done?" I ask, already becoming bored. I pluck at a stray blade of grass absentmindedly.

Marvel cocks his head, considering whether or not all his anger has been blown off. "No. You might as well get comfortable, because it's going to take a while."

In fact, I do get comfortable, and for the next fifteen minutes I kick off my tall black boots and put my feet into the cool water. Marvel throws at least twenty large rocks off the edge of the roof, all of which bounce right back up again. After awhile, the pounding of the rocks lulls, and he plops down next to me. "I'm done."

Well, I guess this is the time when I'm supposed to proclaim some brilliant piece of advice, or say 'I'm sorry you're feeling so bad', or at least pat him on the back, but I don't, because I've never understood the whole concept of comforting someone. No, instead, I simply say, "Okay." That's it.

A long silence passes, and all I can hear is the trickling of the fountain. No crickets. That's another thing I don't like about the Capitol. The sounds of the night aren't there to lull me to sleep like they used to.

"Cato, what's your take on this problem?" Marvel asks. "I mean, you're two years older than me, you've probably had a lot more experience in this kind of stuff than I have."

I'm tempted to laugh, because Marvel cannot be more wrong. Back in 2, relationships were simple. If you like each other, you're friends. If you don't like each other, you're enemies. That's about as complicated as it gets. But I'm no help in this kind of situation, where you don't know who to believe or what person to trust.

It must be pretty hard, to have someone turn their back on you like Glimmer did to Marvel. After all, Marvel did say that they were starting to be friends, until Fiona told him that Glimmer hated him.

But wait a minute...why would Fiona tell Marvel that? If you found out that someone hated another person, wouldn't you just stay out of it and let them be enemies in peace? Why didn't Fiona just let Glimmer's hatred toward Marvel play out in the arena, where killing is allowed and expected? Unless she's purposely trying to create trouble, which would be really stupid. I mean seriously, that's the kind of thing people did when they were twelve.

And why did Glimmer call Marvel a hypocrite? That means Marvel must have unwittingly done something bad to Glimmer. I wonder what...

"Well, what was she yelling at you about specifically?"

Marvel stops and thinks for a moment. "Glimmer was saying that me and you and Clove were trying to kick her out of the alliance."

I raise an eyebrow. Where did she hear that? Yeah, I don't really like her, but no one said anything about trying to kick her out. "Did she say who told her that?" I ask.

"She said Fiona told her."

Problem solved. If Fiona told Marvel that Glimmer wanted him out of the alliance, and Fiona also told Glimmer that Marvel wanted her out of the pack, that means something fishy must be going on. And we now know exactly who started it...

"Fiona's lying," I conclude.

It takes a moment for the realization to dawn on Marvel, but after a few seconds, he finally gets it. "Hey...you're right!" A grin forms on his face. "Thanks, Cato! You're really good at advice, you know! If you win the Games, you should become a counselor!"

"Um, I'd...rather not," I say, almost gagging at the thought of me becoming one of those stupid therapy freaks who butts into people's problems. "Now go to Glimmer and set things straight."

"I will!" Marvel exclaims. "In fact, when we're all made up, maybe Glimmer and I can explore the Capitol tomorrow! We can go to...a...a store! And buy something!"

I grimace. "Yeah, you do that."

Marvel beams. "I will, Counselor Cato!"

I have to cover my mouth to stifle the snort that comes. I think that won the award for the most awful nickname ever invented. "Great. Now go away, and swear on your life to never call me Counselor Cato ever again."

"You got it!" Marvel says. He strolls confidently into the elevator, and I watch the doors close as he disappears behind them. Really, it takes skill to fix someone's life with just three sentences.

Then again, this is Marvel we're talking about. You can tell him anything, and he'll be happy. That's one of the many ways he annoys me to death.

I lean forward and sigh, watching the water trickling around. Sometimes, I wish stupid things like girl drama were the biggest of my problems. Things like that seem so shallow compared to what's coming in a few days. I've got bigger things to worry about than whether Glimmer and Marvel are friends or dating or whatnot.

Like the fact that the Gamemakers could kill me any time they want to in the arena, and all of my training might go to waste. And the fact that the fate of Panem could depend on whether or not I come out of the Games, with the whole business of the bomb.

Really, Cato Black has bigger and better things to be concerned about than counseling.


	13. The Pretty Little Liar

**The Pretty Little Liar**

**A/N: Welcome, welcome! This is Claudius Templesmith, your Hunger Games commentator. The almighty SilverAquaTrident apologizes sincerely for the late update - drama club and homework have been extremely hectic. She solemnly swears never, ever, ever to go so long without updating without notice ever again. Once again, she is really really really really really really really really sorry!**

**Anyway, this chapter is going to be a bit different than the previous ones. There will be excessive 'POV tango', meaning that the POVs will switch throughout the chapter. (i.e. one part will be from Cato's perspective, another from Glimmer's, etc.) This only pertains to this chapter; the other chapters will be just as normal, except for maybe the Bloodbath chapter (which, by the way, IS 2 CHAPTERS AWAY! :D)**

**As usual, thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and support.**

**May the odds be ever in your favor!**

****UPDATED 9/29/12: A new poll has been created on SilverAquaTrident's profile page. This one only asks what Career you are rooting for. Can you please vote in in? Pretty please? And by the way, thank you for all the votes in her last poll!****

* * *

**Marvel Tomlinson**

**10:44 A.M.**

**District 1 Residential Floor**

I study the strange, frosting-covered object in my hands, turning it round and round and feeling the odd, squishy texture, observing the wide gaping hole in the middle. Natalie called it a 'doughnut' or something like that when I asked her what it was a few seconds ago. Apparently it's a delicacy in the Capitol, and it was very common when that place called America existed. Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I sink my teeth into the doughnut gingerly and find that it's sweet and savory, melting in my mouth a bit. However, I don't see the point of the hole in the middle, that big, wide, gaping void. It takes away from the whole splendor of it, really.

As I stare into the hole, holding it close to my face like one would with a monocle, I realize something: I feel like the hole in the doughnut.

Yes, I am the hole in the doughnut. I'm like a doughnut with a vast, endless hole in the middle. And what used to fill that hole was Glimmer.

Last night, when Cato gave me that brilliant advice, I practically skipped off that roof. Something inside of me was telling me that Glimmer would listen to me, that she would know that I wasn't plotting to kick her out of the alliance. Reassurance was spreading through me like vinegar spreading through olive oil, because I knew that for sure that Fiona lied about Glimmer hating me.

Then that reassurance popped like a soap bubble.

Glimmer didn't believe any of it, not one bit. She screamed awful things at me, worse than our last fight. She said that I betrayed her, that I'm twisted and dishonorable, and that I had no right to call Fiona a liar when I was one myself. Thank goodness I had dodged most of the projectiles she launched at me, though I did result in multiple injuries.

Most of those injuries are internal.

It's almost as if that hole inside of me, the hole in the doughnut, is growing bigger and bigger every second. I was on my way to fixing Glimmer, to being a loyal and trustworthy friend for her, but Fiona completely wrecked that whole idea.

But _why_? Why did she have to do that? There's something suspicious going on among the rest of the Careers, and it's making me uneasy. Fiona's been lying to both me and Glimmer, and possibly Clove. She obviously wants to cause trouble for some reason. I don't know how that could possibly benefit her in any way, but the other Careers need to know about it. They need to know that Fiona will harm the alliance, and if she keeps this up, the alliance could be torn apart. We can't trust Fiona.

_Fiona_.

Just the mere mention of her name makes me want to scream. She's hurting Glimmer, she's filling us all with discord, and yet no one besides Cato and I knows about it. I've never felt this kind of anger before. It makes me want to yell, it makes me want to throw something, it even makes me want to punch someone. And never, in my entire life, have I ever wanted to hurt someone.

Then again, the Hunger Games change everyone. And almost every time, they change people for the worst.

"Marvel, sweetie, loosen your grip on that doughnut. Are you trying to kill it?"

I look down at the doughnut and realize that I've been clutching the doughnut so tightly that it's falling apart, and my hands are smeared with the chocolate frosting. I don't even have time to blush and mumble an awkward apology before Natalie laughs that annoying, chirpy giggle.

"Don't worry, sweetie, you'll have plenty of time for killing things when you get to the arena!"

I shudder, knowing that Natalie Fritter is absolutely right.

The phony grin plastered on her makeup-smeared face especially unsettles me today. I think back to the time on the train ride when Natalie barged in on me in the library and screamed at me to put down that curious little book that I had been reading. That's when I knew for sure that underneath that creepy smile was rage and suspicion.

There seems to be lot of that in the Hunger Games - rage, suspicion, and creepy smiles.

Cashmere clears her throat. "Well, on that optimistic note, I want to remind you that you're gonna have to go to your private training sessions soon."

Dionysus rolls his eyes and thins his cranberry juice with a clear, smelly liquid. "Yeah, because they didn't know that already," he slurs sarcastically.

Cashmere ignores Dionysus and continues on. "Just remember, don't hold back your talent at all. Get the best possible score that you can. You can go now. Have fun, stab some dummies, and please, try not to gain any more serious injuries." She shoots a worried look toward me, to which I send a weak, forced smile.

As I get up and walk toward the elevator, I avoid Glimmer's eyes and hurry past her. One look into those pained emerald eyes would hurt me more than the glass vase Glimmer threw at me last night.

Just as I'm about to press the button for the elevator, a force grabs me, jerking me from my spot. "Hey -" Before I can resist, someone drags me into a room a few feet away and slams the door behind me, leaving me in pitch black. "Whoa, what are you -" The lights suddenly turn on, and I find myself inside the bathroom, staring into an all-too-familiar pair of sea green eyes.

"Hey Marvel," Fiona says smugly, brushing back a wave of red hair. "So, did you do it?"

"Do what?" I snap, wanting to scream at the sight of that wretched, evil girl.

Fiona makes a mock pouting face. "Aw, did the little idiot forget the plan already?" Her taunting tone infuriates me as I remember the day I met her, when she seemed so sweet and good-natured, and now she stands before me as a girl with such a jet black heart. "You were supposed to sneak down to District Two's floor and spike up Clove's drink."

I can feel my eyes widen into oversized amber marbles. With all the other problems floating around, I completely forgot about the plan I made with Fiona to prevent Clove from getting the highest training score. That was back when I trusted her. But things are different now...

"Too bad," I say. "I can't trust you anymore, so I'm opting out."

I catch a small hint of surprise in Fiona's eyes, but she quickly recovers, snickering. "Well, that doesn't really matter. See, I kind of guessed that you'd say that, so I already carried out the plan myself just before I came up here. It was easy; I simply sneaked into the Avox kitchens and found her drink order and messed around with some vodka and such. By now, Clove should be completely disoriented."

"But if you already successfully completed the plan, why are you asking me if I did it?" I retort, raising an eyebrow out of confusion.

A devious smirk forms across Fiona's bright red lips. "I have my ways, Marvel," she says mysteriously, her voice dripping with smugness. "And when we get to the arena, you'll find out exactly what they are."

A glare darkens my face. "That's not completely true, Fiona," I say. "I know exactly how you operate. And let me tell you, by the end of the day, all the Careers will have discovered your twisted little schemes. I promise."

I'm about to step out the door, but I turn back around to face her. "And I always stick to my promises. No matter what."

* * *

**Clove McKinnon**

**10:58 A.M.**

I rub my eyes and suppress a moan as Maximus babbles endlessly about the latest underarm polishing treatments. Really, I think it's his brainpower that needs to get polished. I mean, he actually tried to order a lemonade 'without ze citrus flavor'. I politely atempted to tell him that that would make it just water with sugar, but somehow, that didn't affect his choice. He now sips a glass of water with a bunch of sugar resting at the bottom. If I had any doubts that the Capitolites' brains have disintegrated along with their dignity over the years, those doubts have all but vanished completely.

Enobaria holds up her hand just as Maximus gets a little too graphic about the gruesome process of getting his underarms squeaky clean. "Cato and Clove, your drinks are here."

An Avox waiter comes in bearing a tray of two brightly colored beverages - one of them blood red, the other a neon green. Both are the exact same drink, it's just that you can order whatever color you want. I absentmindedly grab the green one off the tray and listen as Apollo finally changes the subject.

"Drink those up," he comments, urgently pointing to his watch. "We're running a little late this morning."

"No we're not," Enobaria responds. "It's just that Districts One and Four always get down there way too early. We've got plenty of time."

I see Apollo's tense muscles relax slightly. "Okay, good. So, let's discuss your private training sessions."

I shrug and take a sip of the drink through the matching green straw. I cringe slightly. Is this drink supposed to be this strong? I glance sideways at Cato, who seems completely unaffected by the alcohol level in his drink. That's strange - I've endured tons of whiskey back at the Academy. How can one sip make me feel this woozy? I force myself to suck it up and keep listening to the conversation.

"I know exactly what I'm going to do," Cato says, beaming with cockiness. "I'm gonna dominate, like I always do!"

Enobaria rolls her eyes, but Apollo grins with satisfaction. "That's the spirit!" he exclaims. "In training sessions, confidence is key."

"In training sessions, confidence is _key_," I repeat in a mocking, sarcastic tone. I absentmindedly take a small sip of the drink, and the world suddenly seems to tilt. It feels as though a small rock is sitting at the bottom of my stomach. Cato shoots me a quizzical look, but I simply raise my eyebrows nonchalantly. I don't want him to know that the alcohol is affecting me this much.

_Maybe you should stop drinking it,_ I think to myself. _You don't want to be all tipsy during training today_.

I ponder this for a moment. _Nah, I'll probably get used to it after a few sips, _I reassure myself.

Apollo frowns and leans toward Enobaria. "Do we _have_ to support her in the arena?" he whines like a little five-year-old.

Enobaria cocks her head and pauses. "I'm working on that." She turns back to us. "Anyway, Clove, what will you do?"

"Uh..." I begin. My voice comes out as a crack, and the world starts to tilt again. I suddenly feel kind of nauseous, that slight, continuous yucky feeling you get when you're sick. I clench my fist under the table and begin again. "Throw knives," I mutter weakly. I'm starting to get worried about what this drink is doing to me.

Enobaria and Apollo exchange worried glances. "Okay," Enobaria replies uneasily. "Well, it seems like you all have this down, so there's no point in discussing it. Off you go, and remember, I expect no less than a Nine from both of you. In fact, you'd better get a Ten, or else you'll have to deal with fangs embedded in your throat." She gestures to her cosmetically altered pointy teeth, the ones she used to kill that girl tribute from 12 awhile back. Both her and Apollo head back to their rooms.

As I'm about to get up, Cato stops me. "You don't look good," he comments. "Are you feeling okay?"

For a split second, I think I notice something odd in those steely grey eyes. Is it...concern?

No, I probably imagined it. We've been enemies for eight years, Cato would probably cheer and rejoice if he found out I was sick.

"Why do you care?" I ask, doing my best to keep my voice steady.

Cato smirks, that little glimmer of concern in his eyes completely masked. "Well, apparently, you can't handle a tiny bit of alcohol."

Before I can protest, Cato holds up his hand. "I know the signs, I've experienced them so much myself. Your eyes are clouded up, you're all dazed, your voice sounds off, and you're swaying slightly. So I guess that wimpy amount of morning liquor was too much for the almighty, unstoppable Clove McKinnon?"

My vision grows blurrier, and my stomach begins to lurch, like it always did when we went out on canoes in the stormy lake at the Academy. "No," I mutter. A shiver runs down my spine, and suddenly I feel like the world is starting to spin.

"Fine then," Cato says smugly. "Why don't you have another sip?"

My body screams in protest - if I take another sip, I won't be able to think straight. In fact, all the emotions I'm feeling right now are numb, dull, kind of like someone's poking me with a pencil that hasn't been sharpened completely. I can tell that anger and frustration are spreading through me, but it doesn't give me the same rush I've always felt when I'm in an internal rage.

However, I can't seem weak. Not in front of Cato. I force myself to close my eyes and take a tiny sip of the vile green drink.

It takes all of my willpower not to spit it right back out. It feels like fire, blazing through me, devouring my body. My head is light and airy, like a balloon, but my arms and legs seemed to be weighed down like lead. Careful not to seem too affected, I stand up slowly and stumble toward the elevator.

Cato catches up with me, but his mocking smirk is replaced by that glint of concern again. "Okay, I'm sorry I made you drink that last bit. Are you sure you're okay?"

I freeze for a moment and turn to face him. A lopsided grin somehow finds itself onto my face.

"Hey, I'm a Career. Careers don't miss training for anything. You should know that, ya big bum," I slap him on the back and continue on my way toward the elevator, feeling worse and worse as each second passes by.

* * *

**Glimmer Maybelline**

**11:04 A.M.**

**Small room adjacent to the Training Floor.**

I clench and un-clench my fists slowly, repetitively, so hard that little marks begin to form on my palms. I'm barely aware of anything, anything at all, besides one thing that lurks inside of me: Rage.

Last night, I didn't sleep a wink - I was too filled with bloodthirst, an untamed desire for Marvel's blood. That boy is the lowest, meanest, most twisted thing I've ever met.

That thought had finally settled into my head when Marvel sauntered into my room last night and begged for forgiveness, because he thought I was stupid enough to believe him.

What he didn't realize was that Glimmer Maybelline, the shallow dumb blonde, is much more bright than she appears.

He probably thinks that eventually I'll succumb to his wretched lies, that I'll give up and surrender myself. He's been taking advantage of my instability for the past few days, feeding on my wobbling emotions like a maggot feeding on old meat. I had thought that pummeling him with all my might would give me satisfaction, but I still feel like he didn't get the punishment he deserves yet. I still can barely bring myself to believe he would try to kick me out of the alliance, but something's telling me that it's true. After all, Fiona would never lie about that to me. She's too sweet...right?

A little voice, albeit much different than the one that's been causing part of my rage, begins to tug at me. _Some people are very good actors, you know_, the voice says. _Fiona could have been twisting the truth all along_.

I just now start to consider that idea, the idea that Fiona might have been trying to make me upset with lies. _Maybe Marvel's a good actor too_, I point out to the voice. _He could be lying_.

_Glimmer, will you gain a brain for once!_ the voice huffs exasperatedly. _You know that Marvel is not the lying type_.

The voice has a point there. Marvel? _Lying_? As my head starts to clear, I realize that the idea is downright ridiculous. Just by looking at him, you can tell that he's too genuine to be a liar.

I need to confront Fiona and get the truth before my head explodes.

I glance around the room, searching for a telltale glint of auburn hair, but to no avail. The only other people in the room are Marvel, who stares at the floor, the pair from 10, the girl from 9, Noah, the pair from 12, and the girl from 5, Finch, I think. I recognize the guy who fell from the climbing bars, and see that his leg is now wrapped in a big cast. The way he winces when he shifts his leg while talking to Annabelle almost makes me cringe. The girl from 9, Lisa I heard someone call her during training, is sound asleep in a plush bean bag. Noah talks quietly with Finch, who bursts out laughing suddenly when Noah cracks a joke. Katniss and Peeta, the two idiots who stole our sponsors, sit stiffly apart, seeming so much less unified than they did holding hands in that chariot.

But where is Fiona?

The door slams open with a bang, making everyone jump. Lisa shrieks and topples out of the bean bag, causing Mailey to snicker.

Cato and Clove stumble inside the room, looking completely and utterly ridiculous. Cato supports a dazed Clove, who grins merrily and staggers into a bean bag. I raise an eyebrow. Judging by Cato's anxious expression, and the way Clove is now twirling around her dark brown ponytail, it's obvious that Clove is dead drunk. I almost snort. And she calls _me_ an idiot.

"Uh...Clove?" Marvel says suspiciously. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm jolly as holly!" she proclaims loudly. She ignores Cato when he tries to shush her. "So how's life, everyone? C'mon, don't be shy!"

The other tributes exchange glances, some nervous, some concerned, but most downright gleeful at Clove's public humiliation.

"Um...not bad, I guess..." Annabelle replies, snickering.

Clove chuckles. "Really? But you're gonna be in the Hunger Games, and you're gonna _die_!" She laughs loudly, doubling over with glee.

"Clove, you're making a fool of yourself!" Cato hisses, but Clove ignores him.

"Oh, what a _shame _that we're gonna die," Lisa spits sarcastically. "Death would be far more pleasant than looking at your hideous face."

Finch elbows her in the stomach, shocked that she has the gall to say that to a Career. Really, is everyone turning into Mailey these days? Normally, I would slap District 9 for saying that, but this is just too hilarious to ruin it.

"That's life," Clove replies, shrugging her shoulders flamboyantly. "Hey, you!"

She gestures to the crippled boy, who groans and mutters "Oh, no, here she comes..."

"Yeah, guy with the broken leg! What's your name?"

The boy shifts uncomfortably, as Clove is now very close to him. "Um...I'm Keaton," he says. "District Ten."

"Ooh, we've got ourselves a little cowboy in the house, eh?" She leans forward to pinch his cheeks but tumbles back down onto the bean bag. Lisa howls with laughter, while the other tributes are either nervous or amused, probably both.

The girl from 6 enters through the door, her long light brown hair tied in a high ponytail that cascades down her back, pulled back from her freckled face. "Hey, join the party, little girl!" Clove whoops.

The girl raises her eyebrow and stifles a snicker. "Did I...miss something?" she asks, nearly cracking up at the sight of a normally dignified Career completely drunk.

"Oh, nothing really," Lisa replies. "Just District Two showing her true colors."

The girl nods. "I see."

"Wha's your name?" Clove slurs.

"Me?" the girl clarifies. "Oh, well, I'm Siobhan. Um...nice to meet you?"

I watch with pure amusement at the drunken banter between Siobhan and Clove for a few minutes, but then something catches my eye. It's Fiona, slinking in alongside Mailey, who walks over to Finch and Noah and bursts out laughing. The moment Fiona sees Clove, her eyes light up with delight, then they dim back down in stifled glee. Funny, it's almost like she was expecting Clove to be drunk or something...

Something occurs to me just now. The fact that Clove got drunk on the day of private training sessions, the day that will determine who will become the leader of the Careers, doesn't sound right at all. Clove might be an arrogant little brat, but she's smart enough not to get drunk on training days, if even at all. It wouldn't make sense for her to choose to get drunk today, unless...

"Fiona!" I whisper as Siobhan buries her face into a stray pillow to stifle her laughs. "Over here!"

Fiona's attention shifts from the disoriented girl on the bean bag to me. She maintains a neutral expression as she saunters up to me. "Oh, hey Glimmer," she says. "What a _shame_ that Clove is drunk...it's a bit embarrassing how much this'll affect the Careers' reputation, don't you think?" Fiona says that last part brightly and sweetly..._too_ sweetly...

"Listen, we need to talk," I whisper as Cato tries to shush Clove again. "Like, right now."

"Okay," Fiona replies. "Let's talk out in the hallway-"

Suddenly, an automated voice resonates out of some invisible speaker. "Tributes, we will now commence with this year's Private Training Sessions. When your name is called, please proceed immediately through the door and into the Training Floor. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

A single moment passes until the automated voice rings out again. "Glimmer Speciosa Maybelline, District One Female Tribute."

_Oh, shoot_! I feel like slapping myself right now. This morning I was so filled with anger, that the fact that my private training session was coming up barely even crossed my mind. I never made a plan, never even thought about what I would do. I guess I shouldn't have stormed off during all those strategy meetings...

I tell myself to relax and stop freaking out. I'm a Career. Even if I throw one knife, the Gamemakers will be relatively impressed. I just need to put on my seductive-alluring facade that I've been using, and as soon as I step into the room, they'll be completely mystified.

"We'll talk later," I tell Fiona as I walk toward the door.

"Good luck!" she replies.

"Yeah, don't die!" Clove hollers, then bursts out laughing again, earning quite a few weird looks.

I place my hand on the door knob and take a moment to soak it all in, knowing that whether or not I'll become the leader of the alliance will all depend on these next few minutes.

I take a deep breath and turn the knob...

* * *

**Cato Black**

**11:48 A.M.**

**Small room connecting to the training floor**.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

I can sense the quickening pace of my heartbeat as the seconds go by slowly, much too slowly.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock_.

The mahogany grandfather clock beside me clicks and clangs nonstop. I want to tell it to shut up, and maybe run it through with a sword or two. I've always hated clocks; the way they tick repetitively makes it seem as though there's a bomb somewhere about to explode.

Like the bomb that's hidden in the Black mansion at this very moment.

I give myself a quick mental slap. I can't think about that right now. Not with all the pressure about to become exerted upon me. I feel like a small animal trapped in a stone quarry, suffocating as the rocks begin to slide onto me. Maybe I'm overreacting about this whole training thing. Maybe my nervousness is justified. Either way, the fate of my private training session will determine how the Games will play out.

If I earn the highest score out of all the Careers, I'll become the leader of the pack. That will change the actions and strategy of the Career pack in general, which will affect the outcome of the Games. Also, our training scores as a whole will impact the number of sponsors willing to spend their last coins on us.

Well, it's not like the Capitolites ever run out of coins, anyway.

_Thump. Thump. Thump_.

Really, I guess there's no reason to be nervous. I mean, it's not like I had to come up with some genius plan. All I have to do is chop a few dummy-heads off, and the Gamemakers will be thrilled. They're always thrilled with District 2. I swear, I have never seen a District 2 tribute earn a score below an 8, and even an 8 is rare. 9's and 10's are the standards we set for ourselves, and we almost always accomplish them.

At first, I was extremely worried about how high Clove's training score will be. Being Clove, she probably developed some mastermind plan that would make her training score excel. Even the simple thought of Clove leading the Careers makes me cringe.

Well, at least I have nothing to worry about now, with Clove getting drunk and all. Actually, Clove's drunkenness gives me _everything_ to worry about. Why on earth would she embarrass the Careers like that? I could barely even look at her stumbling around and hollering like an idiot without shuddering. Part of me is on fire with rage, complete, indescribable rage, but the other part of me is concerned for her.

No, not exactly concerned. I don't care about her well being. Actually, I do. Wait, no - maybe. I don't know...

_This is not the time to be thinking of stupid things like that!_ I scold myself. _You hate Clove and you know it. Now focus on the task ahead_.

I've got to admit, I do have a point there.

I tap my foot impatiently. Clove has been in the Training Floor for much too long. What if she fainted in the middle of the Training Floor? I nearly gasp at the idea. That could have very well happened. That would disgrace her, me, the Career pack, and our district in general! We already lost enough sponsors on the night of the chariot ride, and now -

"Cato Spartacus Black, District Two Male Tribute."

It's time.

A new found determination spreads through me, like black ink spreading through a vial of water. I'm Cato Black, the most skilled Career in District 2. I can accomplish any thing that I need to.

And if that thing means becoming the leader of the Careers, then I will accomplish it, without a doubt.

* * *

**Clove McKinnon**

**16:37 P.M.**

**Rooftop Terrace**

Right now, maybe you expect me to be stumbling around, yelling drunken things, or simply passed out on my bed. Maybe you expect my mind to be fogged up. Maybe you expect me to have a spinning head, limp arms, legs like jelly.

If you expected any of the latter things, you really need to learn to expect the unexpected.

No, my mental and physical state is completely intact, and it has been for almost this entire morning. All I'm doing is lounging on hammock under a cherry blossom tree, smirking to myself because of my unbeatable cleverness. How, you ask? Well, it simply required some high-tech Capitol medicine, a handy talent at eavesdropping, and some incredible acting.

From the moment I took a sip of that vile drink, I knew that something was wrong. I've had that drink before; it's never been that strong. Somebody tampered with it, and I had a feeling that it wasn't the Avoxes.

After I had stumbled out of the room and into the elevator, I knew that I had to see someone about this. After Cato and I got off the elevator, I excused myself to go the bathroom. I actually went back to my room and dug through the medicine cabinet. Surprisingly, they did have medicine for my ailment. I had taken quite a bit of the medicine and headed back down to the hallway near the Training Floor.

And let me tell you, that medicine worked magic. Within thirty seconds, I felt completely better, and my drunkenness was gone without a trace.

When I was about to enter the room where all the tributes were, some hushed voices caught my ear. Of course, I wasn't able to resist the prospect of hearing a secret conversation, so I peered around the corner and witnessed a very interesting exchange between two tributes that I did not expect to encounter together.

I think back to that moment today where I ruined a fellow tribute's mildly clever scheme and replaced it with one of my own, just by eavesdropping in on a private conversation...

_I gravitate toward the source of the noise, like a mosquito drawn to a bright light. I've never been able to resist a good chance at eavesdropping, of hearing something that I wasn't mean to hear. _

_My feet pad silently on the tiled floors, quicker as the voices grow nearer. Finally, when I seem to be close enough, I flatten myself against the wall and listen closely._

_"It's quite a good offer, you know," a familiar hushed voice says, obviously female. "I really think that we will both benefit from it. Besides, either way, I've already done my part. Now, you can take up the opportunity to do yours."_

_A long pause passes, the silence seeming to ring off the walls._

_"It's a brilliant plan, I'll give you that," another female voice says, this one also familiar. "But what's in it for me?"_

_I wrack my brain for who the two voices might belong to. Glimmer? No. Katniss? Definitely not._

_"Think about it," the first voice replies, her voice smooth, annunciating every syllable. Funny, it's the same voice I always used when selling something to my 'customers' back at the Academy. "The first part of the plan has already succeeded. Everyone will think she is completely whacko during training, and her training score will be quite low for Career standards."_

_That sentence captures my attention. What was she talking about, with the whole "everyone will think she's completely whacko" part? And "Career standards"? That means she's referring to either me, Glimmer, or..._

_"Fiona, how will that make any difference?" the other voice inquires. _

_Fiona. _

_The girl with the smooth voice is Fiona, and she's trying to make a bargain with whoever the other girl is. Oh, the interesting things one can learn during the Hunger Games..._

_"In the Career pack, the tribute with the highest score will become the leader of the Careers. If she becomes the leader, she'll blatantly terrorize you in the arena. You've seen the hateful looks she's given you. Also, if you agree and hold up your end of the deal, she will look like a fool in front of all of Panem during the interviews. Now, wouldn't you like that?"_

_A sinking feeling enters my stomach. Something's telling me that Fiona's talking about me, and whatever this is about, I don't like that sound of it._

_The other voice sighs. "Yeah, you're right. I guess some Careers might actually have a little ounce of cleverness after all."_

_Mailey. That's who it is. The cocky statements, the annoyingly snarky voice, even the exasperated sigh can only belong to the thirteen year old brat from District 3._

_"So it's a deal?" Fiona asks. In my mind, I can just see the devious grin forming across her face, her sea green eyes lighting up maliciously. _

_Mailey hesitates for a moment. "Deal," she says. "But it'd better work. Will you give me the liquor for her drink on interview night? And are you _sure_ that she'll be dead drunk?"_

_Fiona laughs. "Of course. I'm quite talented at playing around with liquor, you know. Oh, and thank you, Mailey. I can assure you, you will not be disappointed."_

And at that moment, right then, is when it all clicked. I realized that Fiona was the one who poisoned the alcohol, and she was trying to get Mailey to poison my drink on interview night so that she wouldn't have to once again take the risk of getting caught. But before I could even have time to process my rage or consider her motive, my brilliant plan started form in my mind. It would take a bit of embarrassment, but it would be perfect, absolutely perfect. It would make sure that that lying freak of a girl would be ejected from the alliance by tomorrow night. Of course, it's worked perfectly so far.

I had stumbled into the room with all the tributes, acting like I was completely drunk. I almost couldn't stand all of the snickers and the stifled jeers. If there's anything I hate, it's being laughed at. But I stuck to the plan, knowing that the results would be brilliant in the end.

In my private session, I performed perfectly, and I pretended that I was never drunk at all. Every knife landed exactly on the dot of the bulls-eyes, and every ax flew in perfect motion. I could tell that the Gamemakers were impressed, very impressed.

Now, you're probably wondering, how will that help get revenge on Fiona? Well, that's where the true brilliance of it comes into play.

Somehow, I can guarantee it, the Capitol reporters will find out that I was "drunk" before the training sessions. When Caesar Flickerman asks me about it, I will tell all of Panem that Fiona poisoned my drink and tried to get me to perform badly. Surely, the mentors will see her as a problem to the alliance and kick her out. And if they don't, well, they have the opinions of all of Panem to deal with.

For now, I'll just have to put up with the mocking stares of the rest of the tributes.

But I can tell that in the end, it will all be worth it. After all, never, not once, has one of my clever schemes ever failed. And this scheme will be no different.


	14. The Serpent: Sweet Revenge

**The Serpent: Sweet Revenge**

* * *

**SilverAquaTrident's A/N: YES! I FOUND WI-FI! :D**

* * *

**A/N: Welcome, welcome! Now, perhaps your mind is about to assume, "Oh my, it is Claudius Templesmith." Alas, you are incorrect. Caesar Flickerman is currently in the process of preparing for the Tribute Interviews later tonight, and Claudius Templemith is lazily lounging in a hot tub and refuses to come out, therefore, the two gentlemen have (somewhat) politely requested my presence.**

**Oh yes, I must introduce myself. Almost every Homosapien organism residing in the dictatorial nation of Panem is familiar with my identity, but perhaps you are not. If that is so, I shall now reveal my identity:**

***_clears throat, adjusting glasses_***

**I am Beetee Macintosh, the Victor and sole survivor of the 51st Hunger Games.**

***_the Capitol screams and cheers, because they know deep down inside that freaky nerds with no social life like Beetee will one day rule the world_***

**Thank you very much. Now, I have been instructed to convey to you multiple various announcements:**

**The winner of the 100th Review Challenge has been decided. **

**It is...**

***_drumroll drumroll drumroll..._***

**melliemoo!**

***_The Capitol screams with joy, because melliemoo, is, like, so totally awesome_***

**Thank you, melliemoo! You have received the honor of naming an essential character later in this fictional story, plus other various honors.**

**Without further ado, I shall now convey the theory of the substances pertaining to the molecular compound denoted as Uranium -**

***_A purple-haired lady screams "Just get on with it! SilverAquaTrident and melliemoo are both awesomer than you!". Beetee, taken aback and slightly embarrassed, adjusts his spectacles and laughs nervously._***

**Very well, then. Various Female and Male Organisms, enjoy the chapter, as this is the longest chapter Empress SilverAquaTrident has ever posted for any one of her stories, totaling at over 10,000 words!**

***_Stands up and awkwardly does the Robot out of pure ecstasy and joy_***

* * *

**10:34**

**District 2 Residential Floor **

My eyes flutter open, glazed over from the depths of slumber. For a moment, I'm tempted to drop my head right back onto that pillow, but then I remember what's going to happen today, and my drowsiness fades away without a trace.

Now, what's going to happen, you ask?

Sweet revenge. That's what's going to happen. And it will be brilliant, satisfying, just as I planned.

Deep down inside, I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous. Telling Panem that Fiona poisoned my drink will make it seem like I'm an idiot, like Fiona was able to fool me. But I'm sure I can pull it off with my dignity intact. Maybe I can actually tell Caesar Flickerman that I saw Fiona slip the poison in, and that I was simply acting drunk just to keep her satisfied so she wouldn't try to poison me anymore. Not only would that require no lying at all, but it would work perfectly. It will show how cunning and unstoppable I am, thus earning the Careers more sponsors, and getting Fiona out of the alliance. In fact, since I overheard Mailey telling Fiona that she would poison my drink before the interviews, I can hide out and catch Mailey in the act just for good measure.

Feeling completely and utterly pleased and impressed with my cleverness, I throw off the green and silver quilt and stretch out my legs. That's when it hits me:

This is my last day before the Hunger Games begin.

Is it really almost time? How did the days pass so quickly? It seems like just yesterday when my little sister Dannie was whacking me with a pillow, when I was laughing at Wanda's bright green hair, when Jerome was hosting that stupid little Truth or Dare game.

Strange - I almost miss them. _Almost._

No, no, I'm not homesick. I love showing my skills to the rest of the country, even though I'm around a bunch of lousy dimwits. Really, being with over twenty-three lousy dimwits living in the Training Center are better than being with over twenty-three _hundred_ lousy dimwits in my home sector of District 2.

Even though I'll be back home in three week's time, I still feel like I need to enjoy my last day before entering the arena. Besides, I'm actually quite excited for the Games to start. They're what I was born and bred for, the entire purpose of my eighteen years of life so far. And I prefer the woods in the arena to the tacky posh lifestyle in the Capitol.

I stroll up to the closet that's more than twice the size of my room at the Academy. The doors slide open before I can reach for the handle. I jump back instinctively, then roll my eyes. Why must everything in the Capitol open before you can open it yourself or even decide if you actually_ want_ to open it?

There're so many clothes in the closet that I have to select the clothes I want with a touchscreen and the racks spin around to my command. For the past few days, I've been pretty annoyed by how awful the clothes in here are. Really, all I want is a plain tank top and some sweatpants or something, but everything is either a dress, full of ruffles, or downright sleazy. Seriously, there's a bright red dress with a slit that goes all the way down to the belly button. What Capitolite in their right mind would wear that?

Oh, that's right. No Capitolite is in their right mind.

I've already worn everything decent in the closet, so I select the closest thing to normal that I can find - a considerably low-cut black tank top with a blood-red number two on both sides, and 'McKinnon' written in red on the back. I choose some black and red sweatpants to go with it, tie my hair in a very high ponytail, and head out the door.

As I'm about to walk into the dining room, I hear a loud voice yelling at someone. I flatten myself against the wall, dying to hear yet another argument. For the past few days, I've been hearing quite a few interesting things that I wasn't supposed to hear.

"You idiot!" the unmistakable voice of Enobaria shouts. "Whose idea was it to give them alcohol right before the Private Training Sessions? Did I not ask you to make sure they were non-alcoholic?!"

"I don't see why you're freaking out!" Apollo protests. "A good glass of wine can keep you steady and alert."

"_Steady and alert_?!" Enobria shrieks. "Just look at Dionysus, he drinks nonstop, and can you consider him steady and alert? I think not! And did you see the way Clove was stumbling around yesterday? Her training score is bound to be awful!"

"Relax," Apollo replies a bit softer, attempting to soothe the flustered lady. "We'll find out the scores later this morning, and then you'll see that everything will be okay. Clove can withstand a little glass of wine, she's a Career, you know! She seemed okay after the sessions."

Enobaria sighs with obvious exasperation. "I guess you have a point there, no matter how stupid you are. Hey - weren't we supposed to find out the scores last night?"

"Ze Gamemakers had a delay in choosing ze scores," I hear Gustavo clarify. "Maybe it eez about Clove, you never know."

"Yeah," Enobaria murmurs thoughtfully. "Oh, and when are we going to get all the Careers together to watch the scores?" I note the obvious dread in her tone. Career meetings never end well.

Apollo gulps. "Man, another Career meeting? Why is it that every time we bring them in for a simple little gathering, it always ends with disagreement, frustration, or a fight to the death?"

"Who knows?" Gustavo replies. "It seems zat zeir personalities just happen to clash. Pure fate brought zem together, and maybe pure fate vill keep zem together."

As a long pause takes over the conversation, I realize that this is the perfect opportunity to enter without seeming like I was eavesdropping. I probably shouldn't act like I'm on a hangover - after all, I want to keep the loss of dignity to a minimum. I'll just act a little dazed, especially when the other Careers come to watch the training scores.

I stroll nonchalantly into the dining room. The three glance warily at me, as if they expect me to faint or something. Instead, I just wear my usual smirk and take a seat on the empty side of the table. "Hi," I greet as I pluck a muffin right off a platter, sinking my teeth into the savory dough.

Before I can say anything else, Cato treads into the room. His silver eyes fix themselves on me.

There it is again. That little glimpse of concern.

"Clove, are you doing okay?"

I raise my eyebrows, confused at his strange, concerned reaction. You'd think he'd be the one to poison my drink, not the one who asks if I'm okay. "Yeah. Why do you care?"

Cato shrugs, smiling. "Just making sure my arch nemesis is alright," he replies, sitting down next to me. I cock my head. Why is he in such a good mood?

Oh, I know why. He probably thinks he earned the highest training score. Well, just wait till they broadcast the scores. He'll be bowing down to me in no time.

For the rest of breakfast, we make small talk with the mentors about the training sessions, telling them how they went. They seem completely flabbergasted when I tell them that mine went great, especially Cato. His eyes look like silver marbles about to pop out.

At one point, the phone rings, and Enobaria jumps up to answer it. When she returns, she purses her lips. "Finnick was just on the phone. He said Districts One and Four should be here any minute, and Four is coming right now." She pauses and looks us both straight in the eye, narrowing her own eyes sternly. "Listen up, you two. You need to have a little respect for your fellow tributes this time around. Don't be too malicious, and do not, under any circumstances, bring a knife within a meter of them." She shoots a pointed look at me. "When the other Careers get here, we'll discuss more about the Career leadership deal."

Just as she finishes her sentence, I hear the _ding_ noise of the elevator doors opening up. Finnick, Mags, and Fiona walk into the room. Fiona steals a quick smug glance at me very discreetly, but I still catch it. I smirk at her, and I watch as she attempts to cover up her confusion.

"Hey, everyone!" Finnick exclaims brightly. "So glad we could make it here. It's been such a long, exhausting journey."

"It's two floors away," Cato mutters.

Finnick shrugs, running his hand through his bronze hair. "What can I say? It takes quite a bit of effort to walk into an elevator and press a button. It can really exhaust your fingers, you know."

I watch Cato roll his eyes at the sun-tanned Victor from District 4. I can tell just by looking at his reaction that Finnick Odair annoys him to death.

"You know what takes even more effort than pressing an elevator button? Looking at you without vomiting," I reply, ever-so-politely.

Enobaria prods me in the stomach so violently that I almost topple over. "What?" I protest. "It was perfect timing, and it was an appropriate statement for the occasion!"

"You've got to admit, she does have pretty good comebacks," Apollo tells Finnick, who smiles.

"Aye, 'atta girl," Finnick exclaims cheerfully in his strong district accent, looking a lot like Apollo with his mischievous grin. "Comebacks come in handy when you're stuck in a verbal battle with another Career. Take it from the man who won the Games with his good comebacks."

Well, he has a point. His mildly witty comebacks did earn him quite a few sponsors. But I really think that his good looks enhanced them significantly.

"Let's go sit down in the lounge," Mags garbles. "Training scores may show soon."

Enobaria nods and leads the group to the plush chairs surrounding the television, turning it on. The scores haven't started showing yet. Beetee, a balding, bespectacled Victor, stands on a stage, fidgeting slightly and announcing something to a Capitolite audience.

The elevator dings again, and the tributes and mentors from District 1 walk in and sit down, the mentors greeting us. Glimmer looks miserable, almost as if she did something that she regretted deeply. Marvel whispers something in her ear, and a trace of a smile crosses her lips, but sadness still lurks in her eyes.

The mentors exchange conversation for a few minutes, then suddenly a louder voice comes onto the television. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Claudius Templesmith. We interrupt this rather boring broadcast" – At this, Beetee purses his lips indignantly – "with a much more interesting piece of information. The official tribute training scores have been released, and will be broadcasted momentarily. Please endure approximately fifteen more seconds of Beetee's tedious rambling. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Before anyone can make a comment, Enobaria cuts in urgently. "Wait! I forgot to tell you. While watching the broadcast, there will be no punching, slapping, kicking, shoving, rude comments, witty insults, mauling, maiming, torturing, pulverizing, murdering, or any other forms of impolite torture. Whoever is the leader, you all will have to accept it. Is that understood?"

None of us bother nodding, because we all know that no matter who ends up earning the highest score, there will be a huge argument that will probably end with cuts, scrapes, bruises, and an undying thirst for each other's blood.

The anthem of Panem begins to play, and we all whip our heads back toward the screen. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time to announce the tribute training scores!" the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms. "Sponsors, pay extra attention, for these scores could be the turning point of the Games!"

The seal of Panem fades, replaced by a headshot of a grinning Marvel, the words "Marvel Tomlinson – District 1 Male Tribute" printed above it.

"Here it comes!" Cashmere squeals.

A large, glittering, golden number 9 suddenly appears in front of Marvel's picture, rotating and sparkling. The mentors whoop and cheer, and Marvel smiles weakly, but the rest of us stay frozen into place. This means that in order to become the leader of the pack, I have to had scored at least a 10…

Marvel's picture is replaced by Glimmer's.

"Wait for it…" Apollo says. "And…Nine!"

Sure enough, a glittering number 9 appears over her picture. I'd have to say, I'm pretty impressed. Maybe dimwitted little girls like Glimmer might have a speck of talent after all.

Cato's face appears in place of Glimmer's face. I hold in a sharp intake of breath. If he gets an amazingly high score…

"Ten!"

Cato jumps up and executes a clumsy fist pump. This means Glimmer and Marvel will not be leading the Career pack. However, I have to match his score, or even get an 11, and 11's are impossible. If I don't get a 10…

My smirking face appears on the screen, my dark brown hair tied in a high ponytail. _Please be a 10, please, please, please_…

"10!"

"YES!" I jump up and nearly do a fist pump myself. I don't know how the mentors will settle the tie, but at least I know that Cato didn't outscore me. The mentors and other tributes look shocked that I withstood the alcohol. I glance over at Fiona, and I spot a layer of intense fury under her mysterious sea green eyes.

"Guess we're equal," Cato comments. "But I still beat you at strength."

"Yeah, at strength of arm, not strength of mind," I retort.

Mags suddenly starts tossing notepads and pens to us. "Take notes on the scores," she garbles. "It will help you."

I shrug. Why not? I open the pad and click the pen just as Noah's head appears. The wimpy little boy earns a 4, just a pathetic, little, ridiculously stupid 4. Really, people these days! I scribble down a chart with all the scores so far.

Mailey earns a 7, pretty good for a non-Career, and awfully impressive for a thirteen-year-old. Triton earns an 8, which is Career-level standards. I'm still unclear about why Triton didn't join the Careers, but I think he might be part of a rumored alliance with Districts 3, 5, and 10. We'll have to make sure the alliance is terminated as soon as the Bloodbath begins; alliances are harder to kill than individuals.

I watch with satisfaction as a 9 appears over Fiona's face, turning around to watch her reaction. She wears a pleasant smile, but her fists are clenched, and I can see the rage seething underneath her, because her juvenile little scheme didn't work. A golden feeling seeps through me, and my satisfaction grows with every passing second. Fiona's nonexistent brain has finally processed the fact that she's cunning, but just not cunning enough to fool me.

I send her one of my signature I-so-just-beat-you smirks, then turn back to the screen and continue taking notes on the scores.

_Evan...4...Finch...5...Ashton...3...Siobhan...7...Yukon...4...Leigha...6...Ethan...5...Dimity...3...Imanol...6...Lisa...6...Keaton...2...Annabelle...5...Thresh...10..._

10! Me and Cato exchange a concerned glance. That's the brute from 11 that we noticed when watching the Reapings. We'll need to get him to join the Careers, or else he could be a potential threat.

"Did you ever end up asking him to join the Careers?" I ask Cato.

Cato nods, frowning. "Yeah, but he refused. We need to eliminate him as soon as possible, or he could be a potential threat."

I roll my eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious." I turn back to the screen.

_Rue...7...Peeta...8...Katniss...11..._

Wait a minute...

"WHAT?!"

All five of us emit that very same shriek in unison. The room erupts in indignant cries. What the heck?! Maybe I'm drunk after all. No, no, District 12 did _not_ earn an 11. That...that just doesn't happen. I must have read it wrong. A 1 would make more sense. But something about the shocked expressions on everyone's faces tells me that I'm not just seeing things.

"_How?!_" Glimmer shrieks, letting out a gasp of breath. "How is that possible?!"

"It's not!" Cato cries. "There's got to be a mistake! That's, like, against the laws of nature!"

"The Gamemakers messed up," Fiona agrees, her fury no longer stifled. "There is no way that the pathetic street rat could have possibly earned an Eleven."

I want to holler, or maybe throw a knife or two at the screen, but I'm frozen into place, paralyzed. No, no, no. The Careers did not get outscored. It's not possible. It isn't, it _isn't_...

And suddenly, fire courses through my veins, fire stronger than I've ever felt, fire of an indescribable rage. Any doubts I've ever felt about needing to kill District 12 have vanished altogether. If she wants to test the Careers, so be it. We'll see who the victorious one is when my knife finds itself into her back five seconds into the Games.

"I'm surprised, too," Enobaria admits. Even _her_ shiny brown eyes are widened twice their size. "I don't think I've ever seen District Twelve score more than a Six in my whole life."

"You may not like it, but you are going to have to deal with defeat," Mags adds. "One of the greatest challenges in life is to accept that there will always be someone better than us, whether it's at training scores, strength, intelligence, looks, or kindness. No matter what, we will never be the best."

"I hate her!" I burst out suddenly, jumping up and ignoring Mags' comment. "I'll kill her, I swear! I'll make sure she'll never make it past two inches when she steps off her metal plate!"

"Really? I like her," Dionysus chuckles. "You almost never find a street rat that succeeds at anything."

Marvel shoots him a look, to which Dionysus simply shrugs.

"_Like her_?!" I retort, almost hysterical by now as I feel my cheeks begin to flush. "How could you possibly _like_ her? Katniss Everdeen is the most arrogant, obnoxious, bratty, stuck-up -"

"Sounds a lot like you," Dionysus mutters. "Now before you go on a rampage and commit first-degree murder, we need to decide who will lead the Careers, seeing as it's a tie between Cato and Clove. You both earned the highest scores, but the question is, who will be the leader?"

"Me, _duh_," me and Cato answer immediately in unison.

I shoot him a glare. "How many times do I have to tell you not to keep copying my answers?"

"Copying your answers? How could I possibly have copied your answer when I said it at the exact same time as you?" Cato protests.

"My point exactly."

"Guys, don't start that again," Cashmere groans. She turns to the mentors. "How do we decide? Take a vote or flip a coin? I'm voting flip a coin."

"Flip a coin," Enobaria confirms. "Taking a vote will only escalate the brawl that's about to occur."

"Very well, then," Mags replies, taking out a small golden coin. "Heads or tails, Cato?"

"Why does he get to chose first?" I retort. "Are you against Women's Rights or something?"

"Fine, you can choose first!" Cato snaps. "Must you make an argument out of every little thing someone says?"

"I'm choosing Heads," I tell Mags, ignoring Cato's unjustified comment. "Because at least I actually have something in _my_ head."

"What is it, a lump of coal?" Finnick snickers, attempting to prey upon my comeback.

"No, stupid, that's what your parents give you every year for your birthday," I reply smugly.

Finnick turns to Apollo. "See? That was a brilliant comeback! And she didn't even hesitate to think about it!"

Mags holds the coin up in the air. "Are you ready? One...two...three."

She drops the coin onto the ground, where it spins and spins on its edge. Me and the rest of the Careers scramble over to get a good look at the result. Finally, the coin slows on its axis. Mags slaps her hand onto it and lifts it up in her palm.

"Tails."

NO!

_Stay calm, Clove. Stay calm. Close your eyes and count to ten, and take deep breaths..._

"Whatever," I respond, gritting my teeth, trying to seem as if I couldn't care less. "It's not like it really matters, anyway."

Everyone else stares at me incredulously. They obviously expected for me to slap Cato or give him other various severe injuries. Quite frankly, I don't really care that Cato is the leader. It's not like I'm really going to follow his commands in the arena, anyway. Then again, it would've been nice to get the honor of leading the pack. It's every Career's dream.

Cato's lips twist into a triumphant smile. Luckily, before he can start bragging and boasting, Enobaria cuts him off.

"Okay, I guess that means Cato is the new leader. Cato, I'll talk with you about it later. For now, we need to discuss your interviews. What was that plan you all made again, with putting on facades or something?"

"Yeah," Marvel speaks up. "Glimmer's facade is seductive, mine is witty, Cato's is sexy-fierce, Fiona's is flirty, and Clove is just being herself."

The mentors murmur in assent. "Sounds good to me," Finnick comments. "Think we need to do interview coaching?"

"Nah," Enobaria replies. "I think they know how to handle themselves. Just...whatever you do, don't maim Caesar Flickerman under any circumstances. That will decrease your sponsor rates significantly."

"Now go have fun," Finnick tells us. "The prep team won't want you for a while. In fact, maybe you can even walk around the Capitol as long as you're back here in time."

The mentors and Fiona get up and leave, leaving the four of us behind.

"Hey, we should go explore the Capitol together," Marvel suggests.

"No way," I reply immediately, not stopping to even consider that awful idea. "We're the Career pack, not a tour group."

"It could actually work," Cato points out. "If we all go into the city together, people will recognize us, and we can gain some potential sponsors."

"And we can practice our facades," Marvel adds.

I stop and ponder this for a minute. "I guess it wouldn't hurt," I murmur. "Okay, I'm in. Let's all go to our rooms, grab some money, and meet in the lobby. Chances are, there'll be money in our rooms, and we can grab an ice cream or something in the Capitol."

"Sounds like a plan," Marvel replies. "Glimmer, you like that? A little fresh air might make you feel better."

"Okay," Glimmer confirms quietly, smiling slightly.

Marvel and Glimmer head toward the elevator, while Cato walks toward his room. As soon as District 1 is out of earshot, he turns around and faces me.

"What's wrong with Glimmer?" he asks.

"Would you like the full list, or would you like one thing that stands out above all the other things?"

Cato rolls his eyes. "That's not what I meant. There seems to be something weird going on with her and Marvel. Think they're dating and they broke up?"

"No," I respond. "I think Gloss just proposed to Glimmer a few days ago, and I heard Marvel telling Fiona a few days ago that he has something with some other street rat named Ellie. So they aren't dating, and I don't really get their relationship. I think they're probably...frenemies."

"Yeah," Cato murmurs. "Probably. I don't know, it's just that it seems like Glimmer did something bad to Marvel and she feels sorry about it, and Marvel is forgiving her but she still won't forgive herself."

I let out a snicker. "Look at you, Mister Cato the Counselor."

Cato slaps his forehead. "Not again," he moans. "Marvel is convinced that I should be a counselor one day."

"Well, I disagree with that," I tell him. "You'd just make everyone's problems worse."

Cato shrugs. "Touche. See you in the lobby, right?"

"Yeah," I give him a (kind of) friendly slap on the back, causing him to double over in pain.

* * *

**11:23**

**Lobby**

"Hey, everyone," Marvel greets as he jogs toward the group of us, the last one to arrive. "Everyone have their facades ready?"

Glimmer runs her hand through her crimped hair and winks seductively. "Oh yes," she whispers with allure.

Cato raises his eyebrows, amused at Glimmer's sudden shift in mood and personality. It's amazing how well and how quickly she can change facades. "Okay, then let's go."

The four of us head out the door, into the crisp, breezy air. Cars zoom past us, somehow silently, not like rumbling machines. A large fountain shoots water into the air in the distance, tinted with a rainbow glow from the mid-morning sunlight.

"Let's go there," I suggest, gesturing at a nearby bar. In big black letters, it says 'The Storm Cloud' on it. A steady stream of people seems to be exiting and entering through its doors, which is a good sign that there's lots of people. Lots of people means lots of sponsors.

Cato nods, reading my mind. "Yeah, let's go."

As we strut along the pristine white sidewalk, we attract quite a few stares. You can tell just by looking at our un-dyed hair and lack of absurd features that we aren't from the Capitol. To our satisfaction, a few cries of recognition echo through the street.

When we reach the building, Marvel holds open the door for us.

As soon as I step through the building, I can see exactly why they named this place The Storm Cloud. Platforms are suspended in the air with extremely thin wire, decorated with black material that makes them seem like fluffy black clouds. Each platform has a neatly set table on it. The platforms are connected by jet black catwalks, and the only way to access them is by using a thin spiral staircase. The rest of the restaurant also has a stormy aura to it - the color palette is dark and dramatic, and blue crackles of fake lightning flicker up above the platforms.

A waitress approaches us, decked out in bright blue and black hair and a sparkly jet black suit. "Hi, my name is Electra, and I'll be your server today," she says, obviously bored of her monotonous job. "Would you like a table on the upper or lower - OH MY GOD!"

Her sophisticated business persona completely vanishes as her electric blue eyes widen. "You're the Career tributes!" she exclaims. "From Districts One and Two! Oh my god, I can't believe I'm actually _meeting_ tributes! I'm rooting for you all!"

"Well, thank you," Cato replies, flipping his hair cockily. "We're proud to be the future Victors. Maybe you'd like to consider sponsoring us, so that maiming other children will be even easier for us."

Electra's eyes glow even brighter. "I'd_ love_ to sponsor the Careers! I'll talk to your mentors as soon as I get off my shift."

Me and Cato exchange a conspiratorial smirk. It's been less than two minutes, and we already have a willing sponsor.

We exchange small talk as Electra leads us up the spiral staircases. "I don't think we've ever had tributes here before!" She savors the word 'tributes', almost as if we're gods. "Since you're the guests of honor, you can get a seat on the third level of clouds. Oh, and I'll talk to the manager about letting you eat here for free!"

Marvel runs a hand through his glossy hair. "Thanks," he replies. "Honestly, I'd volunteer for the Games just to get the honor of eating at a place as good as this."

Electra blushes as we reach our platform. "Well it's an honor to have you all here! I'll go get you some specialty drinks."

The rest of lunch goes extremely well. The food is amazing, savory and tender. We joke around and discuss the Games, acting with our facades. It's almost like we're actually friends, even though we all hate each other, and at least three of us will be dead by the next few weeks. For the duration of lunch, six other people come up to us, gushing over us and obsessing over our training scores. With the help of Glimmer's seductiveness and my manipulation skills, we succeed in getting every one of those people to sponsor us. One of them was the manager himself, who, sure enough, let us eat for free and even served us a huge chocolate lava cake. It had small sparklers attached to the top of it that looked like lightning.

Overall, Marvel was by far the best at engaging and joking around with the people who visited us. He laughed, complimented, made awful puns - the Capitolites loved him. At one point, a group of really pretty teenage girls stops by our table while we're eating the chocolate lava cake. Marvel has the chocolate lava smeared all over his face, causing the girls to laugh really hard. Marvel flirts and jokes around with them, and told them that having chocolate on your face "is, like, the hottest trend in District One" and that he's trying to spread it to the Capitol. Later, we see the girls walking out of the restaurant with chocolate plastered artfully on their own faces.

After we leave the restaurant, we spend the rest of the afternoon heading into various shops and buying a bunch of useless crap just for the heck of it. Marvel buys a pair of pink fuzzy earmuffs just because he can, even though we try to tell him that this is our last day before we go into the Hunger Games, and the Gamemakers wouldn't let him bring them into the arena, and he'll be dead soon, anyway. We all buy various candy and sweets to eat after the interviews, because we're all (except for Fiona) meeting on the roof to celebrate our last night before the arena, even if we do hate each other. Hey, just because we hate each other doesn't mean that we can't have a little fun.

Really, it's almost like we're friends. Friends that hate each other. It's as simple as that.

Too bad that they'll all be dead in a matter of days.

* * *

**19:36**

**District 2 Residential Floor**

At the Academy, I've heard stories about some rather creepy prep teams. But I would have never guessed that my prep team would be a Barber Shop Quartet. Literally.

Apparently Crystal, Ruby, Diamond, and Emerald are not only my prep team, but also a sibling Soprano-Alto-Tenor-Bass quartet. They're good singers, but when you've spent two hours with a group of people that literally sing every word, you start to get a headache. Seriously, if I hear one more jazzed-up rendition of "Coney Island Baby", I think my head will explode.

Even more annoying is that every sentence they say is sung and harmonized. Not one word they've said has been spoken.

Luckily, I think they're almost done. I've been washed, polished, scrubbed, dusted, glittered, painted, and brushed. But every time I think they're done, they always find another problem with my nails, or my eyebrows, or my hair, or my stomach or chest or shoulders. I've been a bit squirmy about being completely naked the entire time, but they've seemed used to it. After a while, I've gotten used to it, too, so half the time I don't even remember that I'm naked.

For the whole time, Diamond, my stylist (and the Tenor in the quartet), has been turned away from us, putting finishing touches on my interview outfit, which I can't see from here. I'm confident that it will come out good - after all, he did well with the chariot ride costume.

"Should we put in highlights?" sings Ruby, the Alto, holding up a strand of my now-silky hair.

Emerald cocks his head. "Perhaps," he sings in an extremely deep tone. "What color?"

Crystal leans in and studies my hair. "I'd say a subtle tone of..." She takes a deep breath. "AUUUUUUUUBUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UURRRNNNNNN!"

She hits a note so high and loudly that I cringe, though the other singers seem entirely unaffected. "Okay, fine, you're a good singer, but do you have to cleave out my ear drums right before the interviews?"

Crystal makes an indignant noise, almost like a squeak. "Think my vocal range is high? Then let's hear you sing!" she demands, still keeping up a similar melody.

"Uh...what?" I say uneasily.

"E-Flat Major Chord," Ruby mouths.

"Siiiiiiiiiiiiing!" All four prep team members somehow harmonize at the same time. It scares me how they can harmonize in an instant, just from hearing a chord name.

"Or else I'll add a large pink bow to your dress," Diamond adds.

I sigh. I usually don't like to sing in front of other people, even though I know I'm good at it. Then again, I really don't want a large pink bow plastered to my dress.

"Well, what do you want me to sing?" I ask, sighing. I can't believe I'm actually doing this for them.

The quartet shares a conspiratorial glance so devious that it makes me a little nervous.

Diamond jumps up. "In key of D major! One, two, three - "

The group immediately begins to harmonize.

"I'm a little teapot, short and stout!  
Here is my handle, here is my spout -"

"I'm not singing _I'm a Little Teapot_! " I snap.

Diamond smirks mockingly. "Alright, let me grab that large pink bow -"

"Fine!" I snap. "I'll sing for you! But I'm singing something else."

The prep team freezes in their look and gazes at me expectantly, like puppies begging for biscuits.

I rack my brain for a good song that I know, a song that I'm good at singing, maybe a folk song or something. That's when I think of one that could work. It's an eerie melody, an old, old song from District 2. After the First Rebellion failed, someone wrote this lullaby to tell the district that one day the Capitol will fall. The government banned it because it 'implied rebellion', but no one actually cares. I doubt that my empty-headed prep team will understand its true meaning, but the dark lyrics will probably unsettle them. I'll sing just the first verse, the least bloodiest one.

I clear my throat, taking a deep breath.

"_Thunder has crashed_  
_Lightning has flashed_  
_Horrors a sea of blood has sent_  
_But the wind shall attack_  
_The heart of pure black_  
_And soon, the evil ones shall repent._"

The quartet gapes at me in awe, speechless. "That...that was amazing!" Crystal cries, not singing for the first time.

"Your larynx was stationary the whole time!"

"Your soft palette was in its proper position!"

"Your diaphragmal breathing was prefect!"

They start rambling on and on about my apparent good vocal technique. To be honest, I don't have a clue what they're saying - what on earth is diaphragmal breathing? There were no such things as voice lessons back in District 2, so I really don't know what any of that crap means, even though I've acquired a basic knowledge of musical notes. After all, singing is a pretty decent pastime for when you're not training or manipulating others. From what I gather, they're pretty impressed.

"Well, that's great," I respond, yawning. "Is my outfit ready yet?"

"Oh, actually, I just finished!" Diamond replies brightly. "Close your eyes!"

I close them, and hear the prep team gasping and shrieking with excitement as Diamond walks past them, probably holding the dress. "Raise your arms," Diamond orders. I feel something smooth slide over me, soft and comfortable, and obviously strapless. "Now open your eyes."

Diamond leads me to a full length mirror, and all I can do is stare at my reflection. I'm not pretty. I'm not sexy. I'm a _goddess_.

The dress is long and flowy, the fabric falling perfectly down my legs. It's green and silver, shiny and mysterious, and it almost looks like moon beams are reflecting themselves off the flowing fabric. The top is fitted tightly around the bodice, shiny silver with light green embellishments, strapless, and low-cut. The skirt consists of the flowing fabric, patterned with wide vertical silver and pale green stripes. The stripes conform to the folds of the dress, blending together flawlessly, like a skillfully-made watercolor picture. The dress fits my body perfectly, accentuating my muscles, curves, and everything great about me. Not only is the dress perfect, but my skin is glowing and shimmering, illuminating the dress and casting a mysterious glow onto it.

"What do you think?" Diamond sings softly, stepping back and admiring his work. The prep team grins at me, letting out a giggle of glee every now and then, amazed at how gorgeous I look.

I flash him a blinding white grin. "Not bad," I comment. "Not bad at all."

Coming from me, this absolutely thrills them. "I knew you'd love it!" Ruby belts with some jazzy vibrato. "Diamond, add the accessories!"

Diamond's genetically enhanced rainbow irises light up. "Oh, yes! I forgot! Here," he reaches over to a table and ties an emerald necklace with a silver chain around my neck. Then, he places a silver diadem on my head, adorned with silver things that look like little vines, and a teardrop-shaped emerald in the middle. I look closer, and I see that the silver bands aren't vines - they're little metal serpents, intertwining within each other. I can't help but smile. How did Diamond know I love serpents so much?

As I gaze over myself, satisfaction envelops me. This will be absolutely perfect for my interview angle - sharp, cunning, and simply evil. "You all really did do a good job," I state matter-of-factly, a bit embarrassed. I've never given a compliment in a long time, and I always feel uncomfortable when doing so. "You're great stylists."

The members of the prep team actually tear up with pride, and I swear that Diamond might faint.

That, my friends, is how you win a prep team's heart.

Crystal's grin grows so large that I think her lips might snap eventually. "Let's go outside and meet -" She takes in a deep breath, and I brace myself for another extremely high Soprano note. "CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTT TTTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

This note is higher and longer than any of the previous ones, and this time I actually back away from her. Really, after I win the Games, she's going to have to pay for ear damage repair for me.

Just as she finishes the note with an elaborate riff, Cato suddenly peeks his head into the room. "Did someone call me - WHOA."

Cato's mouth drops open as soon as he lays eyes on me. I almost laugh as he stands there gaping, speechless. I never thought I'd see the day when Cato would marvel at my beauty.

"You...you look...good..." he whispers.

I nearly snort. Cato calling me good? Honestly, what is this world coming to? He's probably just messing with me, he has to be. But that sparkle in those silvery eyes resonates pure amazement.

"You don't look awful either," I tell him. He actually looks quite good. His stylist - Aphrodite, I think her name is - dressed him in an expensive-looking suit with red accents and a blood-red tie. His white blonde hair is spiked up a little bit, sleek and slicked back.

Cato raises his eyebrows and smiles. "Thanks, Clove." He turns around and heads toward the elevator.

I'm probably hallucinating, but I think that maybe, just maybe, he winked at me.

* * *

**20:25**

**Room Behind the Stage**

A cacophony of hushed voices fills my ears as stylists rush back and forth toward their tributes, adjusting their ties, re-pinning their hair. Thank goodness Diamond has left me alone for the most part. Some of the stylists are obsessing over their tributes so much that it's almost as if they're stalking them.

I can barely stand still - adrenaline rushes through me, and I can hear my heart pounding over the discordant symphony of noise. This is it; in about ten minutes, I will execute my plan perfectly, and Fiona will be kicked out of the alliance for good, plus I'll earn loads of sponsors with my cunning tongue. Now is the time to impress the Capitol, Panem, and everyone back home.

I catch pairs of eyes floating toward me periodically, unable to resist gazing in wonder at my beauty. When I had walked in, a few of the stylists gasped, and one crazy District 5 stylist named Maximus ran up to me and started shrieking about "such fine craft-er-man's-ship!". He kept pronouncing words ridiculously wrong.

A stagehand rushes among the bustling crowd like a drill sergeant, shouting commands at everyone. "Attention tributes!" she barks as soon as she realizes no one is actually listening to her. Everyone freezes and turns to her, alarmed by her commanding holler. "The show is starting in about three minutes. Please line up in order of gender and district, with females in front of males. The District One female tribute should be in the front, and the District Twelve male in the back. Stylists, please make your final adjustments and exit the back of the stage immediately, then make your way to the designated Preparation Team balconies."

As the stylists begin to exit, Diamond rushes over to me. "You'll do great," he sings. "You look spectacular!" After completing a complex-sounding trill, he follows the other members of the Prep Team out of the backstage area while the stagehand begins ushering the tributes into their places.

"You ready?" Cato asks as I step between him and Marvel before the annoying stagehand can shove me.

I return his question with a smirk. "To get Fiona out of the alliance? In that case, I've never been readier."

Cato grins. "Whatever devious little scheme you're planning, I like the sound of it."

Before he can ask any questions, silence falls over the tributes, even though it's probably not time for the interviews yet. All the tributes seem to be facing behind us. I crane my neck to get a glimpse of what's going on, and my excitement morphs itself into rage.

I look like a goddess. But District 12 looks like the queen of goddesses.

Perfectly draped in red shimmering fabric, her dress is one of the most gorgeous things I've ever seen. It's covered in rubies and sapphires and topazes, no doubt to represent her persona as the Girl on Fire. Everyone is awestruck, amazed, worshiping her with their eyes. They know that she's the underdog, the star of the show. And I'm not.

_Great, now I sound like Glimmer_, I mutter internally.

Cato, seeming to read my mind, leans in close to my ear. "You look better," he whispers reassuringly, his lips tickling my earlobe.

I reward him with a smirk, because in a way, he's right. Her stylist created the dress, but _she_ didn't. She's simply a mannequin. No one can give her credit for her stylist's masterpiece.

"District Twelve looks terrified out of her wits," I whisper back, leaning in equally as close to his ear.

"Well, she can't be terrified out of what she doesn't have," we somehow whisper simultaneously.

Cato laughs quietly. "Copier," he whispers. I flick his forehead with my forefinger and thumb almost playfully and turn back around.

"Tributes, please make sure you are in your places, and remain silent, because the interviews are about to begin," the stagehand orders. She takes a walkie-talkie out of her pocket. "Seneca, we're ready," she says into it.

"Excellent," a male voice replies, then begins talking to the cameramen. "Cameras on my count - Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, and...Caesar, you are live."

Cheers thunder across the stadium suddenly, and the booming voice of Caesar Flickerman rings out. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

The cheers erupt even louder, almost like a battle cry resonating off the walls. Cato taps my shoulder, and I turn around and find a large screen showing what's happening on the stage. Sure enough, a blue-suited Caesar Flickerman is strutting across the stage, waving to the screaming Capitolites. Two chairs are placed on the center of the stage - one is a soft-looking blue plush couch, and the other is a hard golden chair, with ornate decorations that make it seem a bit like a throne. A stiff, rather uncomfortable-looking throne.

Caesar rambles on about the Games and cracks a few jokes to warm up the crowd, as if they'er not warmed up enough already. This goes on for about ten minutes, and all I can think is, _are they trying to torture us or something_? Because it's torture standing here with all that adrenaline rushing through me, aching to just get on to that stage.

The stagehand beckons Glimmer forward. "District One Female, you're on deck."

Glimmer smirks, almost seductively. Her facial expression fits her outfit - her stylist dressed her in a long golden gown, covered in sparkles that make her look like an angel - a dark angel, that is. Her emerald eyes are lined with dramatic makeup, accentuating the outfit's general sexy attitude. "My name's Glimmer, but 'District One Female' works too, if you want to go for the impersonal angle." The stagehand doesn't even smile.

Finally, after those long, aching minutes of waiting, Caesar Flickerman calms the laughing crowd down. "Alright, alright," he chuckles. "I guess it's no use trying to calm you down, because, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's time for the tribute interviews! And now, without further ado, please welcome Miss Glimmer Maybelline!"

The crowd screams again, and, after a "Good luck" from Marvel, Glimmer struts onto the stage, and the cheers grow louder and louder. The obscenely low-cut top of her dress produces quite a bit of wolf-whistles. From what I can tell watching on the screen, Glimmer seems to be basking in all the wolf-whistles and longing stares. Honestly, we're Careers, not sleazy fashion models! If the crowd reacted that way to my appearance, I would die of shame right then and there.

Finally, after quite a bit of waving and seductive smirking, Glimmer sits down on the golden throne next to Caesar's chair.

"Well, hello there, Miss Maybelline!" Caesar exclaims, eyeing her up and down. He conceals it well, but I can tell he's staring at her like she's a fresh, tender piece of meat to be consumed. "You look awfully gorgeous tonight, if I do say so myself." He turns o the massive crowd. "Am I right, Panem?"

Judging by the Capitol's unified howl, Caesar is, as a matter of fact, absolutely right.

Glimmer smiles and winks. "Thank you, Caesar. It's an honor to be here, especially with such...good reception."

A man in the crowd calls out, "WILL YOU MARRY ME?"

Me and Cato exchange a snicker. How pathetic.

Glimmer smirks and winks in the general direction of the man. "I'm sure you wouldn't be a bad husband, but I'm already taken." She holds up her left hand to reveal a diamond ring.

The audience screams with delight - well, it's pretty half-hearted. I'm sure most of the men are actually howling with disappointment.

Caesar grins. "Oh, right! Now, if it's not too bold of me to ask, ma'am, I've heard talk of the victor Gloss Kardashian proposing to a beautiful girl from District One. Would that girl, per say, happen to be you?"

Murmurs spread throughout the audience. I'm sure they've all heard rumors about the engagement. They say that if one important thing happens in Panem, by two minutes the entire Capitol knows about it.

A sheepish grin spreads across Glimmer's dark red lips. "Maybe," she answers sheepishly, and the blush that appears on her cheeks is obviously produced on purpose.

The Capitol erupts in more half-hearted cheers. No matter how much the Capitol loves the Kardashian twin Victors, I'm sure that every man in the Capitol would kill Gloss just to marry Glimmer. That fact, right there, proves the low quality and intellect of Capitol men.

The rest of Glimmer's interview goes smoothly. Glimmer conducts her facade flawlessly for the entire time, and I must admit that she conducts it well. Her attire and attitude probably increased our sponsor rates significantly, as if they weren't high already.

As the audience lets out a unified roar when Glimmer exits, she smirks out of satisfaction. "Did I do good?" she asks me and Cato, though she avoids Marvel's eyes.

"Perfect," Cato answers, running his hand through his hair. "How do you keep up your facade that well?"

Glimmer's smile falters for a minute, and through her heavy makeup, her faces pales slightly. "Oh," she laughs nervously and stares toward the floor uncomfortably. "I've...had lots of practice." She turns around, taking care not to make eye contact with Marvel, and plops down on a nearby couch.

Caesar makes a few more comments, then he announces, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Mister Marvel Tomlinson!"

"Go get us some sponsors!" Cato whispers, patting him on the back.

Glimmer raises her head and looks as if she's about to say something to Marvel, but evidently she changes her mind, and she turns away again.

The rest of us turn to the screen and watch Marvel stroll onto the stage, his glowing blue tie shining in the stage lights. After the applause dies down, he sits down in the golden chair, crossing his legs casually and smirking out toward the audience. I raise an eyebrow. Marvel smirking? Oh, the ways the Hunger Games can affect people...

As soon as Marvel utters his first sentence, the audience falls in love with him and his awful jokes. "Hey, Caesar, why is Cashmere always mad at Glimmer for hurting Gloss?" he asks halfway through the interview.

"Why?" replies Caesar, smiling with amusement.

"Because she Caesar Flickerman!"

After a few seconds, the Capitol audience bursts out laughing, though I don't get the joke. Some giggles erupt from the line of waiting tributes, and I can hear Mailey snorting in disdain.

"That doesn't even make any sense!" I protest to no one in particular.

Cato snickers. "The joke is that 'Caesar Flickerman' sounds like 'Sees her flick her man'. So Cashmere is mad at Glimmer because she sees her flick her man. I don't really get it, either."

I raise my eyebrows. "But-but that's not even funny! And it doesn't make any sense! It's not funny, or humorous, or clever, or even mildly witty - it's just...bad!"

Cato shrugs. "Well, as long as the Capitol likes it, which they obviously do."

It turns out that Cato is absolutely right about the Capitol liking it. The audience is completely entranced with him; they laugh at his jokes, laugh even harder at his well-told anecdotes, and many start bawling when Marvel tells of his little sister Aimee and a girl named Ellie who he fell in love with, both of whom are the main people he's fighting for. Even the renowned interviewer tears up a bit. When Caesar asks him about his living conditions in 1 (obviously he's heard about him being a street rat), Marvel describes this group of homeless people called the Sham that he helps take care of. He still keeps up his cocky facade though, in stating that his poor background will not be a detriment to his winning the Games. By the end of the interview, people are cheering so loud that I swear I can hear the ground underneath my feet vibrating.

After Marvel's done, Caesar makes some heartfelt comments, then wipes a few nonexistent tears from his eyes for dramatic effect. "You see, I'm sure your bets have shifted toward Mister Tomlinson, eh? Well, those bets just might shift again. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome District Two's Clove McKinnon!"

My mouth drops open, probably as wide as the hollow in the tall oak that loomed right above my dorm at the Academy. How could that much time have passed so quickly? Perhaps I should have seen it coming - after all, I _am_ the District 2 female, making my interview third. But I was so focused on Marvel and Glimmer's interviews that the fact that my interview was coming up barely even crossed my mind.

The excitement that should have been there before blossoms through me. It's time to carry out the plan that I so cleverly devised, time to kick out this annoying Fiona girl before her mildly cunning schemes cause any more minor annoyances. Panem will chant my name, just as they chanted Marvel's, and I will be revered as the most cunning tribute the Capitol has ever seen.

All those thoughts rush through my head with a blink of an eye. As I'm about to take a step toward the stage, Cato grabs my arm.

"Clove...um...just..." A smirk marks his lips. "Go out there and dominate in that interview."

I return his smirk and punch his arm. "Of course, stupid."

And with that, I saunter onto the stage, keeping up the most devilish smirk I can produce.

The neon stage lights seem to blind me, creating little squiggly lines of light before my eyes. I glance over the screaming crowd, and a small choking feeling finds its way into my throat. I didn't expect the crowd to be _this_ big...

Wait...am I, the brilliant Clove McKinnon, most proficient and intelligent Career in District 2, experiencing...stage fright?

_Suck it up!_ I mentally scold myself. _This is what you always wanted, right?_

Yes, it is. Every Career would kill to be where I am right now - literally. With that reassurance in mind, my throat loosens, and my legs stop shaking as much. The blinding lights become mere blinking stars, and the crowd is just a sea of turning heads and calling voices.

I slink over to the golden chair that Caesar is seated next to. A twinkle appears in his unnaturally midnight blue eyes, a delighted twinkle. Evidently he loves interviewing Careers. The non-Careers either cry, ramble on pointlessly, or even pass out. Seriously, some girl from 7 was known for fainting from stage fright during her interview. Well, she actually ended up winning the Games, but that's not the point. The thing is, even Caesar Flickerman, a theoretically unbiased interviewer, loves us Careers more than anything. This interview is bound to run perfectly.

When the bustling crowd quiets down, Caesar gets right down to business. "Good evening, Miss McKinnon," he says politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

I reply with a sickeningly sweet smile, sweet but immensely evil all the same. "I'm sure it is, Caesar," I reply with evident cockiness. This earns a few laughs from the audience. Really, the fools will laugh at _anything_!

Caesar chuckles. "You're absolutely right! So, Clove, what are your thoughts on this year's competition?"

The sweet smile twists itself into a smirk. "Competition? What competition? The other tributes aren't even obstacles to my victory, let alone _competition_. "

Quite a few members of the audience whoop enthusiastically, and I even hear a few cries of "Amen!". Wow. I guess that means I have legitimate fans!

"I see," Caesar replies. "I can tell that you're quite confident that you will win this year's Hunger Games, am I right?"

"No," I answer, raising my eyebrows and sighing, trying to appear slightly bored. "You're actually to my left."

Apparently, that mildly witty statement was a well thought-out, perfectly executed, amazingly hilarious joke, the way the Capitol saw it. Their whooping and hysterical laughter seems to last for nearly a full minute before they settle down. I'm starting to think that even if it made no sense to them at all, they would still laugh loudly just to draw attention to themselves. If I had an ugly Capitolite face like they do, I wouldn't be trying to draw attention to _my_ self.

Caesar, who had joined the chorus of laughter, too, regains his composure. "My dear apologies! Now Clove, there has been talk of drama spreading throughout the alliance of One, Two, and Four. Can you tell us anything about that?"

I freeze up again. Should I tell him anything? Definitely not. The entire purpose of the facade plan is to make us appear to like each other to get more sponsors. Telling Caesar about our fights would terminate the plan and make the mentors furious.

"Drama?" I cock my head to the side. "No, not at all. Quite frankly, the alliance works very well together, which will be a key component for victory."

Just as Caesar opens his mouth to question my statement, I remember exactly what I'm supposed to say. It takes all of my willpower not to let an abnormally large devious grin appear on my face.

"Wait!" I interrupt. "Actually, there has been a bit of...shall we say...discord."

Caesar's eyes glow at the prospect of squeezing some fresh, dirty gossip out of me. "Really?" he squeaks, like a small child that's just been offered a toy for free. "Oh, please, Miss McKinnon, tell us more!"

I almost begin to shake again, just out of pure anticipation. I let the smirk that was dying to come out form on my lips. "Our alliance is almost perfect. We work well together, we cooperate, and our strengths complement each others'. But you see, Caesar, every alliance has an obstacle that it needs to overcome." I pause for a moment, just to relish my moment of triumph. "And our obstacle is a girl named Fiona Riddle."

In the audience, there's a collective gasp. I'm sure that everyone thought we were all friends with Fiona. But murmurs erupt throughout the audience like small crackles of lightning creating fissures in a storm cloud. Some of the Capitolites are so shocked that they let out shrieks or loud yelps, almost as if someone pricked them all with a needle. How fun would that be to do...

"Oh!" Caesar exclaims, taken aback. "And why is that?"

I look out toward the audience, giving off the impression that I'm giving a proclamation. "Citizens of Panem, I hate to spoil your opinion of Fiona," I hiss subtly on the 's' in 'spoil', making myself seem more and more like a serpent. "But I'm afraid that I have some news that will shock you all. You see, on the morning of the Private Training Sessions, Fiona attempted to poison me."

This time, the audience lets out one deafening shriek, then begins buzzing with horrified exclamations. Caesar hold up his palm, and they almost immediately shut up.

"That's right," I confirm. "I was equally as shocked that such a sweet, trustworthy, honorable girl would attempt to poison one of her fellow allies. How dishonorable! I never would have done something as horrible as that to one of my allies. Then again, not everyone can be as righteous as me," I can just picture all of the tributes' eyes on Fiona, and Fiona keeping a pleasant smile on her face, seething with rage underneath. The thought makes me feel on top of the world.

I continue on, relishing the Capitol's shock and horror. "Fiona, I know that you think you fooled me, especially when I came to the Private Sessions drunk - and I'm sure the Capitol's heard all about that. But what you don't know is that I've taken your pathetic little lie and turned it into a cunning masterpiece on my part."

Even Caesar, the country's most renowned interviewer, can't help but gape. "K-Keep going!" he stutters.

I smile sadly to the audience, a smile almost mocking in nature. "Well, if you must know, I will tell you," I reply. Nearly the whole Capitol leans forward, eyes widened like puppies begging to hear more.

"As soon as I took a sip of my drink yesterday morning, I knew that something was wrong. It was far too strong, and I immediately began to feel sick. But I knew that I couldn't be drunk right before my session, and that I would have to endure the symptoms for the time being. So I headed down to the Training Floor."

I purse my lips to keep from grinning. This is just too fun.

"Just as I was about to enter the waiting room, I witnessed a very...interesting exchange between Fiona and the female tribute from District Three, Mailey Prescott. They were discussing a rather sinister plot - a plot to poison me both before the Training Sessions and before my interview."

I expect some more shrieking and gasping, but the audience is too shocked to utter a sound. They look like panting dogs, with their jaws hanging wide open.

"This, of course, caught me off guard. But it didn't catch me off guard enough. I knew that the two of them expected me to come into training drunk. So I dashed back up to my floor, took some medicine that relieved my symptoms, and came back down. Yes, I could have sauntered into training pretending that they didn't try to poison me, just to unnerve them, but I'm smarter than that. If I came to training acting just fine, they would try to poison me again, and maybe try a different, more devious tactic. So, in order to keep them quiet, I entered the waiting room and stumbled around like an idiot. Obviously, this satisfied Fiona and Mailey, and they probably never suspected that I would be right here, destroying their plot in front of the whole nation."

Just as I finish my sentence, the buzzer goes off. For a moment, there's dead silence.

Then the audience lets out one, huge, massive, unified roar.

My plan must have worked better than I ever could have dreamed. The audience screams and screams, chanting my name over and over again. The ground rumbles, my ears ring with all the noise. They love me, they love my clever schemes, and I probably just earned the Careers about twenty sponsor parachutes for the arena.

I shake a grinning Caesar's hand, then I confidently stroll into the backstage room, aching to see the tributes' reactions.

As I expected, most of the tributes are gaping and gawking. They knew that the Career alliance was unstable, but who would have ever expected one Career to try to poison the other? As far as I know, it's never happened in the history of the Hunger Games.

Cato grabs my arm, with a grin even wider than Caesar Flickerman's. "That was perfect," he whispers, his lips tickling my ear again. "And I used to think that you could never get any cleverer..."

Before I can make a sarcastic reply, Fiona grabs my arm much more roughly than Cato did. She shoves me off to the side and leans in close to me.

"That was awful," Fiona hisses, rage burning in her sea green eyes.

I jerk my arm away. "Really? Not as awful as you'll look when you have my knife in your back during the Bloodbath."

And with that, I walk away and plop down on a nearby chair, my smirk bigger than it's ever been in my eighteen years of life.

_Ah, sweet revenge._

* * *

**A/N: Guess what?**

**THE HUNGER GAMES START NEXT CHAPTER! YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!**

**:D :D :D :D :D**

**I know I remind you every chapter, but I've intended this fanfic to be completely whacko, absurd, and non-canon, and so it shall be. (Wow, that was awkward phrasing...)**

**The Games will play out completely different than they will in the book. Remember, not everyone that you expect will die in the Bloodbath...**

**Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor! **


End file.
